Home Sweet Universe
by SimplySupreme
Summary: Long story short, I died. Then, I un-died. But that's not possible, is it? It shouldn't have been. But I didn't come back to my world. I had to choose another. So I chose one in which I could make a difference. I'm not a Seer, but being me, I know the future. And being me, it's now my personal mission to help one Harry Potter however I can. Begins just after 3rd year. HXF
1. Chapter 1: Bartholomew

**A/N: So, my little sister refused to let me post anything at all on any of my stories until I redid my story 'The Redux and I" for Harry Potter. Seeing as I actually want to post some updates, here it is, Potter style.**

**Yes, it's AU. No, it will not be HarryXmulti, but it will be HXF. Why? Underloved pairing, and I flipped a coin.**

**Without further ado, the first chapter!**

* * *

Home Sweet Universe: Chapter One  
Bartholomew

* * *

There are always questions in life, but perhaps that's the beauty of it. If people were born with the ability to know everything, there wouldn't be much to live for, would there? No adventure. No challenge. No ability to choose and learn. Each and every one of us spends our lives asking and answering questions, and sometimes, that can be a pretty big pain in the ass: especially when we have questions that we can't find the answers to.

What came first: the chicken or the egg?

What existed before the universe did?

Is there a God?

Why is chocolate so delicious?

People who lived long before me and long after me have and will devote their lives in pursuit of the answers to these questions. After all, we humans are a curious bunch by nature, and are stubborn to the point of stupidity. Call it the human condition.

I was always an ordinary girl, living in my ordinary world: middle class, average height, fairly intelligent, a mediocre athlete. Just one college sophomore in a university full of hundreds of sophomores in a country full of hundreds of universities. I was perfectly ordinary, and perfectly content with my lot in life. It wasn't until the accident that I became something special.

It wasn't that I changed. I physically remained very much the same as I always had been, bar a few minor alterations. No. I changed in spirit. I changed forever and irrevocably when I became one of the few people to ever know the answer to one of life's unanswerable questions: What happens when you die?

It wasn't quite what you might think.

* * *

My life ended very unpleasantly. When the truck hit the passenger side –my side—of the car, I was hurt, and badly. I was crushed and bleeding and struggling to stay conscious, and from the beginning I knew I was going to die. (What a curious feeling that was: _knowing_.) However, my injuries weren't quite severe enough to kill me instantly. I died slowly, with every minute ticking by like an hour, and the panicked cries of Ria ringing in my ears as darkness muffled me like a damp pillow, my pain fading away.

My name is Astoria White, and I was a pretty good kid, for the most part. I was a psychiatry major and had good grades, a unique and fun job in a laboratory, great friends, and a family that loved me. My life was pretty good.

My best friend's name was also Astoria. It was what drew us together in the first place, actually. She was Astoria Erin Wyke, and I was Astoria Alice White. (Score 8 out of 10 on the freak-o-scale, I know.) We went to high school together, and having such similar names, we caused quite a bit of confusion amongst our classmates for the first few days of school. In fact, we started out hating each other for it, but in the end, we became the best of friends. She was Ria, and I was Stori, and we did everything together.

Well, except for dying. I pretty much took that little side trip by myself.

After I died, I wasn't quite sure what I had expected. Nothingness? The Pearly Gates? A fiery inferno of endless suffering? Certainly not what I saw and experienced.

I died in that car crash, in Ria's arms. Departed from the Earth. Passed on. Passed away. Kicked the bucket. Croaked. Any way you'd like to put it. But I was most definitely dead, and I knew it. I_felt_ it. Dying was the most terrifying experience of my life. Or… not-life, seeing as death can't exactly be considered _life_… can it?

But I digress.

I emerged from the darkness rather slowly. Yet I found myself not broken and hurting and bleeding and crying, like I had been, but sitting smack in the middle of a beautiful forest clearing in my favorite pear of jeans and pink t-shirt. Sitting just in front of me was a middle-aged man. The only adequate word that I could find to describe him is reasonable. He just looked… _reasonable_. Reasonable aside, I wasn't quite sure what was happening or why he was there.

Ever articulate, I blurted, "What the _hell_?"

The man blinked at me. "If you think that _this_ is Hell my dear, you and I need to have a talk," he said with a trace of amusement.

I blinked right back at him. "I'm _dead_."

"Yes, you are, Astoria White," he confirmed.

I frowned, looking around me. The clearing was eerily silent. A breeze stirred the branches of the nearby trees, but I couldn't hear the rustle of the leaves, nor could I hear the bugs or birds that should have been there. It was like a silent movie, and it creeped me out. All in all, I probably should have been far more panicked than I actually was, but I was inexplicably calm, contrary to my natural state of being. (I'm a bit of a spaz.) Under normal circumstances, I would have been freaking out, but as it was, I was able to remain more rational. "Who are you?" I asked the man sitting across from me.

The man cocked his head to one side and considered me. "You may call me Bartholomew," he finally replied. "I am your higher power representative."

I didn't even bother to try and process that bit of information. "Wait, is this the afterlife?" I asked, confused. It certainly didn't _seem_ like the afterlife. Forests were nice and all, but I thought it might get a bit boring if I had to spend eternity in one with a man named Bartholomew.

"Yes and no," Bartholomew sighed. "I'm afraid that while you _are_ dead, you aren't _supposed_ to be. Your case was mishandled, and you've been placed in this isolated holding area, temporarily of course."

"Mishandled," I parroted. "Mishandled?" I made a face at him. Since when did people die if their cases were mishandled? I was _dead_! Not _mishandled_!

"You were in the vehicle with Astoria Wyke, were you not, Astoria White?" he queried, as if reading my mind. (Which, in all fairness, he might have been.)

"Well, yes," I admitted, fidgeting, but not having any urge to get to my feet. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Astoria White was not supposed to die tonight," Bartholomew informed me. "Astoria _Wyke_ was. There was a mix-up in the paperwork, and the mistake was made before it could be corrected."

My breathing hitched and strangled in my throat. (Although why I had a throat or a need to breathe in the first place escaped me.) It was all too much to process. I hadn't even figured out exactly to what degree I was dead, much less exactly how angry I was that people's deaths were decreed by some sort of _paperwork_!

I decided to go with highly irritated. "You mean that my best friend was supposed to _die_, but you screwed up on a massive scale and _I_died instead? How am I supposed to feel about that?" I cried. "I can't even wish myself un-dead, because that would kill Ria! But… I never wanted to die either! Fuck you, man!"

To his credit, Bartholomew took everything in stride very well. He didn't bat an eye at my outburst, although I suppose he probably expected a worse reaction. I probably would have given one too, if I weren't feeling so abnormally mellow. As it was, I just didn't see the point in breaking my higher power representative's nose, even though it _would_ be immensely satisfying. "I am genuinely remorseful for what has happened to you, Astoria White," Bartholomew protested, seemingly sincere. "That is why I have brought you here. The higher powers have agreed to make redress by offering you a choice."

This gave me pause, and I refocused my eyes from the beautiful forest scene onto Bartholomew's reasonable face, noticing for the first time that his eyes weren't entirely human. They were slitted like a cat's, and a muddy green color. "And what choice do I have?" I spat bitterly. "I'm dead. I don't know what that means to _you_, but to _me,_that kind of_sucks_."

Bartholomew ignored me. "You have two options," he reported gently. "Firstly, you may continue on to where all of the dead souls of your world continue on to." I opened my mouth to comment upon that, but the higher power representative simply overrode me. "Secondly, you would be given a second chance and given a new life on a _new_ world of your choosing."

I closed my mouth quickly, opened it, and closed it again. "Uh, what?" I finally spluttered. (My excuse for my stunning intellectual powers at that moment was that, hey, I had just _died_!)

I could have sworn that Bartholomew rolled his eyes at me. "You're familiar with what those on your world call the 'Multiple Universe Theory', correct? Where there are an infinite number of universes all existing simultaneously, for every possibility that exists?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Well, I suppose it works a little something like that," Bartholomew elaborated. "There are multiple universes, and the higher powers care for the dead souls of them all. You cannot return to life in your _own_ universe: that isn't the way of things. However, this does not mean you cannot travel to a new world, and begin a new life _there_. This is the boon that the higher powers are willing to grant you after erroneously taking your life."

"I… suppose I like that option the best," I answered tentatively, admittedly still more than a little overwhelmed. "But how do I choose a new world to live in if I've never seen any?"

"There are endless possibilities," Bartholomew responded factually. "If you can imagine it, it exists, as well as much more."

I pouted. "You are _exceptionally_ unhelpful," I groaned. "That doesn't make the choice any easier!"

Bartholomew's features remained reasonable, but I was sure I saw a little laughter in his eyes. "Perhaps something you are more familiar with?" he suggested. "The people of your world are fond of the written word, yes? Many worlds have been imagined in the novels your people have created. Are there any you favor?"

For the first time since the beginning of our conversation, a little excitement alit in my chest. I had always been an avid reader: ever since my early childhood. How many times had I wished I could escape into my favorite books? If I _had_ to die, at least I now had the option of going and being whomever I chose available to me. It was the next best thing. "Really? I could do that?" I gasped.

Bartholomew nodded. "Most certainly, just as well as you could any other world. It is your choice."

My mind was reeling. What should I do? What should I _do_? I suddenly missed my mother very, very much. I wanted to cry when I realized I wouldn't see her again. Nor my father and brother, nor my aunt, uncle and cousin, nor my friends, nor Ria. Dear Ria. The one who was supposed to die. I wouldn't see _any_ of them again, and the thought was painful. They would miss me. I would miss them. None of us would ever know what became of each other, and that was hard. They were everything to me, and now I had nothing.

Perhaps it was the intense longing for something dear and familiar that influenced my decision then. My mind immediately leapt to my favorite series as a child: the one that had turned my hatred of reading and dreaming into a love and craving for it. 'Harry Potter'. As I had grown older, I had grown away from the books somewhat, but like a favorite teddy bear, the thought those familiar words soothed me, and I knew where I wanted to be. I informed Bartholomew accordingly.

"You are sure?" he asked passively.

I hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

And really, I was. There wasn't anyplace better. If I was going to survive banishment from everything that I had ever known and loved, I was going to need passion and friendship and excitement and something to fight for. If nothing else, that world could provide that for me.

"It will be arranged immediately," Bartholomew promised. "Sleep now. When I return, we will send you on your way. Think on this: upon your arrival, you may request any ten items to be given to you to begin your new life, and nothing else. Choose wisely."

A flash of light, and Bartholomew was gone, leaving me alone in the soundless clearing. "Thank you Bartholomew," I whispered into the air before, almost against my will, sleep overtook me and I slumped to the ground, senseless.

* * *

I don't remember much of what happened after that, but when I next awoke, I _knew_ I was different. I was no longer in a forest, but in the back of a particularly dark and dingy alley, with only a sliver of grey city sky visible and a busy street not far off. It was very different from the forest in the quasi-afterlife. This place lacked perfection. It was rough and unrefined and _real_.

Groaning a little, I sat up, shaking out my hair. Bartholomew was waiting for me, standing a little to the side in a trim business suit. "Welcome to England, Astoria White. Everything has been prepared as you asked. This is your last chance to move into the next life: after this moment, your decision will be irrevocable until the day you die. Do you choose to stay?"

"Yes, Bartholomew. I _do_ choose to stay," I affirmed grumpily, stumbling to my feet clumsily, like a baby horse. I took a few moments to adjust to my body, and I looked down at myself with curiosity. I was dressed interestingly. I wore sturdy black combat boots, thin leather gloves, a soft long-sleeved tee-shirt, leather leggings (Super kinky, I know.) and a silky royal blue witch's robe cinched about my waist with a slim leather belt. "Good choice," I commented. "Very practical."

Bartholomew nodded in acknowledgement. "Have you decided what supplies you wish to be granted to you?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows. The man was all business, apparently. "Yeah. Do I just tell you and you make it happen? Is that how this works?"

"Indeed, that is 'how this works'," came the faintly mocking reply. "I will provide whatever you ask."

"Whatever I ask?" I clarified suspiciously, planting my hands on my hips.

Bartholomew rolled his alien eyes at me. "Only ten. Remember that."

"Right. Noted," I sighed. "Well, I suppose the first thing I'd like is to be a witch. I won't be helpful in the least as a muggle."

Again, Bartholomew nodded his understanding. "I anticipated this," he admitted. "It is already done."

I blinked. Well then. Moving on. "The next four things I want aren't _objects_ exactly," I hedged. "I want knowledge: complete mastery of this world's magic, to the equivalent of a talented Hogwarts graduate, and skills in combat and strategy with a wand. I need to be an accomplished Occlumens capable of shielding against Voldemort himself. I would also like mastery over an animagus form." After all, how was I supposed to survive in a world that functioned through magic if I didn't even know how to use it? Or live through what was to come if I couldn't fight? I also hoped to be able to find Harry and help him learn, so he might be better prepared for the fight against Voldemort. To do so, I needed anonymity, as well as knowledge to give and a way to protect it against invading minds. _Yes_ it was cheating and _yes_ it was rather –okay, it was _really_—arrogant of me, but after having already died, I wanted to make _doubly_ sure that it was as difficult as possible to kill me. It's not as if I intended to _abuse_ these gifts either. On the contrary, I hoped to save lives. After all, I _had_ read the books. Technically, I knew the future.

Suck it, Trelawney

.Bartholomew's brow furrowed. "No, they're not objects," he agreed, still frowning. "But at the same time, this is not unreasonable of you to ask for. These are cultural skills that others born into this world may very well possess, putting you at a disadvantage when interacting them. I will grant you these skills, as your second through fifth allowances." With that, he stepped right up into my personal space.

Naturally, I leaped back as if scalded.

"I cannot give you this knowledge if you keep jumping away like a skittish animal," Bartholomew snapped impatiently, glaring at me.

Sheepishly, I returned to my previous spot. I was pretty glad Bartholomew brushed his teeth. Otherwise it would've been a doozy.

Like a classic scifi film, the man placed his hands on either side of my temples and closed his eyes. One flash of light later, and I was four life-skills smarter.

Seriously. Just like that. One minute I didn't know, and the next, I _knew_. This wasn't your average epiphany moment either. It felt like I had spent years doing something I had never done in my life. Do you have any idea how _weird_ that feels? I'm gonna guess not. For future reference, the answer is: _very_ weird. Weird enough that I sat down very quickly, and not very gracefully, dizzy and queasy.

"W-woah," I spluttered, blinking furiously and trembling. "That is… fucked up."

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows at me. "Next?"

It took me more time than I care to admit to process the fact that he had spoken, and then formulate an answer. "R-right. My stuff. Right," I stammered. The next item was, again, not really an item, but most definitely out of the realm of possibility to acquire on my own. In all actuality, asking for it kind of made me feel like a first-class douchebag, but it was something that I had to ask for. "Look, this society is based off of archaic blood-superiority concepts, right?" I asked for the sake of clarification.

Bartholomew nodded.

I sighed. "Well, I won't be able to do much good in the current political climate as anything less than a pureblood," I said, hating myself for doing so. "I need you to… change me. Change my DNA enough so that I could pass as a member of some long-extinct Ancient and Noble house that everyone thought died out and take the family money, name, and Wizengamot seat." It really bothered me that the British magicals were so tied up with blood purity. I promised myself then and there to only use the power that came with being a Head of House (as I must be as the only surviving member of the line) to bring about equality.

Contrary to telling me that this was impossible, Bartholomew just looked thoughtful for a few moments. "The Sterlings. I can make you a Sterling," he finally decided out loud, before fixing me in his unnatural stare. "This will be changing a fundamental part of you," he warned. "I cannot use a trick. You will be changed on a genetic level, and your adopted heritage will be very much real."  
I nodded, grim. "I understand," I said softly. In a way, it felt like I was giving up my parents and grandparents and everyone else in my family, but then again, I was dead to them, wasn't I? And I would still be keeping parts of what used to be me. Just not everything.

With this gift, I passed out again. Of course, I'm pretty sure there was still a flash of light. Bartholomew couldn't do _anything_ without a flash of light.

When I came to, nothing much had changed. I was still in the alley, Bartholomew was still reasonable, and I was still dressed in blue. I was shorter though, and the hair that was falling in my face was thicker than I remembered, and more curly. Seeing my curiosity, my higher-power-representative produced a full length mirror. (I didn't want to know what orifice he'd pulled _that _one out of.)

I was definitely shorter, though my coloring and complexion (pinkish skin and light brown hair) remained largely the same. My hair though, was significantly wilder, and my eyes had faded from the cheerful blue of my father's to a silvery grey. My facial features had changed as well, from a cheerfully round face into something colder and more decidedly aristocratic. My cheekbones were higher, my jawline was narrower, and my nose had shifted from the category of 'cute button' to 'straight and narrow'. All and all, I wasn't sure how I liked it. I was definitely prettier before the change, but this new face was far more memorable. I had lost much of my curviness, which was depressing, but since I was shorter, it evened out in the end, and I still looked normal.

And then, the mirror was gone, and Bartholomew was looking at me impatiently.

I grinned at him, unrepentant. "Next, I need a Basilisk fang. There should be one in the Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts. That's item number seven, right?"

For an answer, the man simply disappeared and reappeared in his own miniature supernova and handed the fang to me.

Carefully, I took it in one gloved hand. "I'll need a bag or satchel. One with an expansion charm on the inside, and a magical lock that will only accept my blood as a key," I decided.

Flash. Flash. The bag, a plain black cloth messenger bag, was in my hands.

"How do you do that so fast?" I asked curiously, making no move to take them from him. "Go places and reappear in others almost instantly."

The man shrugged, features impassive. "Space-time doesn't exist to me like it exists to you," came the only explanation.

Deciding that this was as much information as I was likely to receive, I moved on to considering my last two options. "I want a second Marauder's Map. I need to know what's going on at Hogwarts," I finally decided. "I also want Hufflepuff's cup. The Horcrux from the Lestrange vault."

Moments later, I had what I asked for, and a moment after that, I had plunged the Basilisk fang into the Horcrux and destroyed it. I shivered with the residues of dark magic. It was some creepy-ass shit, and it left me feeling nauseated.

"Why did you choose the Horcrux?" Bartholomew asked curiously after watching me drop the ruined cup and the undamaged fang into my messenger bag.

"It was the hardest to get at, being in Gringotts," I answered after a moment. "Any other way of getting at it, and Voldemort would know someone was after his soul. This way, he won't become desperate until it's too late for him. Hopefully," I amended.

I could have sworn the man smiled at me, but it was so fast I could have been hallucinating. I was thinking hard and fast enough that this was actually very likely.

That's right. _I_ had a plan. If it worked, things would turn out better than if I hadn't interfered.

I was given a second chance and the tools to make a difference. I had the power to impact this world in a _big_ way, and I'd be _damned_ if it wasn't in a good way. In the words of President Wilson, in order to shape the peace, one must first fight the war. I had lost everything on Earth the First, and I could prevent the same from happening to people here. But first, I had to fight for it, and this I would do.

"This moment will mark the termination of all contact between yourself and the higher powers," Bartholomew suddenly informed me. "Is there anything you feel the need to say?"

"Other than to thank you for what you've done to make everything right again, Bartholomew?" I shook my head. "No. Nothing."

For a moment, we stared at each other—the human woman and the reasonable whatever-the-hell-he-was. Then, I slowly gave him a wave. "Goodbye, Bartholomew," I offered.

The higher power representative nodded reasonably. "Until you die," he called out as his parting words, before simply popping out of existence in a kaleidoscope of light that seemed to suck sound in with it.

And then, I was alone.

But a warm breeze filtered through the alleyway and hot blood rushed through my veins, and I was _alive_. I was caught halfway between rejoicing my new life and mourning my death, but I no longer held the false sense of serenity that had pervaded me in the false clearing. It was bittersweet, and I loved it.

Carefully, I stepped out from the alley's shelter and into the sun that filtered through the polluted sky, taking in my first view of London. This first view just happened to include a rather shabby-looking pub that people were walking past as if they didn't even see it.

The Leaky Cauldron.

With purpose, I took my first step to cross the street into my new life.


	2. Chapter 2: Head-First

Home Sweet Universe: Chapter Two  
Head-First

* * *

Aristotle was of the belief that in all things of nature there is something marvelous. That being said, the goblins were as ugly as the business end of my Great-Aunt Griselda. (Which is to say, very ugly.) Creepy as all hell too. From the moment I swished into the bank, blue robes billowing slightly as I walked, their beady little black eyes were watching my movements from the doors all the way to the head teller's desk.

"I'm here to request an inheritance test," I reported in a no-nonsense sort of way, making and maintaining eye contact with the goblin before me.

The goblin in question gave me a sort of sneer that I wasn't quite sure how to interpret. "And why is this?" he questioned. "You have never entered this bank before."

Yeah. That was weird. Regardless, I repressed the urge to shudder. Maybe goblins were just creepy because they were lonely. Maybe they just wanted hugs.

But then again, maybe not.

"I have reason to believe that I am the heir to an Ancient and Noble House," I explained curtly. "And as for never seeing me before, that would be because I am American. I've only just moved to this country."

The goblin seemed to accept this explanation. "Very well. Your name?" he asked.

"Astoria Alice Sterling." It was weird, not being Astoria Alice White anymore, but Sterling wasn't such a bad last name. It could've been a lot worse.

The goblin's eyes widened ever so slightly before he turned to one side and called, "Wallcrush!"

An admittedly very dumpy little goblin scurried forth. "Yes, Runsnare?"

"Take Ms. Sterling here to the blood room, and make her comfortable. I will be with you shortly, after I notify Ragnok," he instructed.

Wallcrush bowed. "Yes, sir," he responded before turning and gesturing for me to follow. "This way, Ms. Sterling."

I fought the urge to giggle. I had entered Diagon Alley with not a small bit of awe, even though I passed through it rather quickly to get to the bank. (I didn't have any money yet, after all.) The Alley was, simply put, the most fantastic place I had ever seen. And I could _feel_ it. The magic, that is. It thrummed through my body like ephemeral blood, and it sang in the presence of such a place. But seeing goblins running around in their little Gringotts uniforms was just too funny. Not because they _looked_ funny (which they did) but because the less experienced ones, such as Wallcrush, looked about as uncomfortable wearing the uniform as I felt watching them wear them.

But I did not laugh, not wanting to be rude of course. (Wouldn't that be just peachy if I picked a fight with a goblin literally five minutes after becoming a witch? Seems like a bad plan.) Instead, I did as I was asked and followed Wallcrush into a back hallway, and finally into a room with stone walls that had runes painted all up and down the sides. In the center of the room was a table, empty except for a small silver bowl and matching silver quill, with a roll of what I assumed to be parchment perched to one side. I took a seat in a surprisingly comfortable wooden chair, accepted a glass of water, and waited, trying to engage a recalcitrant Wallcrush in conversation as I did so.

All I could get out of the little creature was that he had been working by the tellers' desks for four weeks and two days before Runsnare, the teller I had spoken to, stepped in, followed by another goblin who was even _more_ unpleasant to look at than the first two. Clearly, he must be a superior.

"Good morning, Ms. Sterling. I am Ragnok, the bank's director," the goblin greeted me.

Oh yeah. I was right.

"Good morning, Mr. Ragnok. Please call me Astoria," I shot right back, offering my hand.

Ragnok looked surprised, but shook it anyways. "Well, shall we get to business?" he asked.

Funny, these goblins rather reminded me of Bartholomew. "We shall," I agreed. Wallcrush had left the room hurriedly, clearly glad to be shot of me, but both Ragnok and Runsnare took seats opposite me and observed me closely over the table. "Forgive me if I'm rude, but is it quite normal for the Director of the bank to oversee an inheritance test, Mr. Ragnok?" I asked.

Both goblins shot me one of those inscrutable sneers again.

"No, but in this case, there is quite a lot of money involved, seeing as how the Sterlings, a rich family, were thought extinct for the past twenty years," Ragnok responed crisply.

I nodded my understanding, before turning and accepting the handle of the knife that Runsnare was offering to me. "Slice open your hand and allow the blood to collect in the silver bowl," the goblin instructed.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste (Such barbarism! Really!) but did as instructed with a wince. It didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would though. The plain blade that I had been provided with was very sharp, and easily made a shallow cut across my palm. I made a fist over the bowl, and the blood soon dripped down and collected there like quicksilver, swirling mysteriously.

And here I was thinking that I'd never have occasion to describe blood as 'swirling mysteriously'. Silly me. For the first time I wondered if I hadn't actually died in that accident, and was just in the hospital on some _really_ good pain medication.

But I didn't think so.

"That will do," Runsnare said, and I pulled my fist back and pushed the knife across the table, surprised to see that the cut was already beginning to close. Fascinated, I watched as the silver quill sprang to life and began scribbling furiously on the parchment. Ragnok and Runsnare watched it too, but with less fascination and more anticipation.

In moments, the scene was over, and my blood evaporated from the bowl while the quill clattered back down onto the table, lifeless. Runsnare snagged the parchment and was examining whatever had been written with his glittering black eyes flicking back and forth at an impressive speed. He looked up at Ragnok and nodded once.

Almost (and quite probably) on cue, Wallcrush came back in, holding a small box in his swart little hands.

"It seems congratulations are in order, Ms. Sterling," Ragnok declared, relieving Wallcrush of his burden and removing the signet ring he found there, handing it to me. It was white gold, with a coat of arms that showed a griffon on a backdrop of crossed wands. "You've just become quite the rich young lady."

I grinned. "Nineteen and already rich. Who says _America_ is the land of opportunity? England rocks!" The ring, which I slipped on the third finger of my right hand, was too big for me, but it shrank to fit my hand almost immediately.

The goblins just looked at me a little oddly before moving on. "You will want to visit your family vault."

I agreed. "I also want to discuss some investing." Hey, I knew the future! Where's the fun in that if you can't indulge in a little insider trading?

* * *

That day marked the biggest shopping spree in my young life. Not only did I now have more money than I'd ever had in my life five times over, but I actually had an excuse to spend it, owning literally nothing but the clothes I was wearing. An entire new wardrobe, both witching and 'muggle' (How I was beginning to resent that word!) was, of course, a necessity. But I also greatly enjoyed perusing the bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, and ended up purchasing more than my fair share of books there. I was just glad that everything could fit into the magically expanded, five-compartment trunk I bought. The thing was heinously expensive, but worth it. Especially since I could afford it.

My favorite purchase was, of course, my wand. Ollivander, who was, by the way, even creepier than the freaking goblins, didn't really seem to buy that I lost my old wand, but he was more than happy to find a new one for me regardless. It took a while, but a wand that was made of ironwood with a phoenix-feather core eventually chose me. Holding it sent tendrils of warmth and feelings of love and mischief shooting up my arm, and I can admit to you now that I've never been so taken with something that wasn't alive. Especially after I tried a few spells. It was ten and a half inches. Inflexible. Excellent for power and precision in casting but not so for the more delicate charmwork.

When Ollivander told me that, I replied back with a straight face that I was capable of more delicate charmwork than he could handle.

I'm pretty sure that I was the first witch that he ever pushed out of his shop so quickly.

Now, of course, as I sat in my room at the Leaky Cauldron, the events of the day having caught up to me, I could barely find the energy to laugh about that. I kept waking myself up with dreams of dying, or the friends and family I had left behind crying and accusing me of leaving them. It was tiring, and it was maddening.

Eventually, I decided that I would not be able to get back to sleep, and stood, smoothing out my silky nightgown. It was time to experiment.

(In the non-perverted way, of course.)

Wrinkling my nose in concentration, I tried, for the first time, to achieve my animagus transformation. I had actually managed to sprout a coat of fur when my center of gravity shifted unexpectedly, and I crashed to the ground in a very human heap.

I scowled at the mirror in the corner of the dark (but surprisingly clean) room, which was laughing hysterically at me. "I'll show you, you asshole piece of smartass glass," I muttered darkly.

It took me quite a few more tries, and quite a few more failures (which I won't discuss) before I got it right. At which point, I pranced in front of the mirror gleefully, taunting it with my success.

That is, until I remembered to actually _use_ the mirror to see what sort of animal I'd turned into. Turning, I peered into the reflective surface curiously, and was pleasantly surprised to see what looked like a smallish silver fox (the melanistic form of the common red fox) staring back at me with the grey eyes I had in my human form. Still more than a little smug, I resumed my prancing, admiring my thick, dark fur that was streaked with glossy bluish-silver and the cute white tips of my tail and feet. I wasn't sure if I could pass as a dog, but it was close enough to get by, and this _was_ the wizarding world, after all. Doubtless people have seen stranger things than a domesticated fox. If I could just get my hands—er, paws—on a collar, I'd have a one-way ticket to complete freedom!

A bit of concentration, and I was human again.

Much too excited to go back to sleep, I dug around in my messenger bag, into which I had put most everything that I wanted to be easily accessible, including my shrunken-down trunk, until I found my copy of the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I intoned, tapping the parchment with the tip of my wand as I sat down on the edge of the bed. Reading what appeared on the parchment, I almost fell off again with laughing.

_'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are proud to present: This Yank's Cheap-arse Rip-off of the Marauder's Map!'_

Well, I really couldn't fault the Map for being honest now, could I?

For the next two hours, I amused myself with perusing the Map. I would, after all, have to know where I was going once I got to Hogwarts.

Because, you see, I had a plan.

It was almost the end of Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts. Even as I observed the Map, I could see the little dot labeled 'Peter Pettigrew' hiding out in Hagrid's hut, though I couldn't see the dot labeled 'Sirius Black'. He was probably in Hogsmede. The full moon—the night of Pettigew's escape—was in two days. It wouldn't happen like last time, though. It wouldn't happen because_ I_ would be there, and I was going to knock some sense into the whole lot of them starting _now_.

I glanced at my wristwatch. Well, maybe not _now_ now, but definitely soon. I would have to get some sleep first. But after that, my ass was in gear!

Satisfied that I was doing the right thing, I told the Map that my mischief was managed (for now) and fell asleep, sprawled sideways on the bed and snoring slightly. (Well, more than slightly, but I'd never admit to that.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

Apparation sucked hairy balls. It took a lot of willpower not to hurl after I appeared on the outskirts of Hogsmede in a very nice set (if I do say so myself) of powder-blue robes. Eventually, I fought down the nausea to a manageable level, readjusted my bag on my shoulder, slipped my wand into its holster, and shifted into my fox form. I had purchased a plain collar to sell the idea that I was a pet, and attached a pink, heart-shaped tag to it with the name 'Sofie' pressed into it in curly font. (Had to get the message that I was a girl across _somehow_. I don't think I could take it if someone started calling me 'boy'. I'd probably designate them my new chew toy.) This I had been forced to charm specifically so that I would be able to wear it as a fox if I put it on in my human form, seeing as I really couldn't put it on _afterwards_. Opposable thumbs really are a gift.

Now an adorable, if strange-looking, pet, I trotted towards the delectable scent of warm chocolate, which eventually led me towards Honeyduke's. I waited for the door to open and slipped inside underfoot, glad that the place was crowded. No one gave me a second glance as I slipped down into the cellar. I was forced to temporarily revert back to human form to move the trap-door, as well as to climb out of the one-eyed-witch's hump, but other than that, my journey into Hogwarts was uneventful.

And _this_ was the safest place in magical England? No wonder that people like Voldemort could make them bend over and take it in the ass without Vaseline!

But I digress.

The first of my potential targets I was able to get alone was one Hermione Granger. I had, of course, found her in the Hogwarts library, which was giving me book-gasms just by being in the room. It was pointed out a lot, but the bushy-haired witch really was very sharp. She knew within minutes of my tugging on the hem of her robes and giving her my famous 'puppy-eyes' (made all the better by being a fuzzy, adorable little silver fox) that I wanted her to follow me. And follow me she did, her eyes alit with curiosity. It wasn't too difficult to find an empty classroom, so I led her into one of those and nosed the door shut before transforming.

And what does the kid do? Screams of course.

"Shh!" I begged, resisting the urge to clap my hand over her mouth. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything. Gods, Granger!" I swore, bemoaning my poor luck. It could have been worse though, I'll admit. She could have just hexed me on the spot.

The witch quieted with a deep, shuddering breath. "S-sorry," she stammered defensively. "But you startled me!"

I rolled my eyes. "Believe me, _you_ scared _me _more than I scared you," I responded dryly. "So forgive me if I'm being snappish, but you've gotta give me a sec to re-start my heart, yeah?"

She frowned at me. "American?" she asked.

"Darn tootin'!" I shot back in a bad imitation of a Texan accent.

She was still frowning. "Who are you, what do you want with _me_, and how did you know my name?"

I paused, and then grinned widely at her. She was good, I'd give her that. "Simple," I explained, sitting cross-legged on top of an abandoned desk. (This disrespect of an instrument of learning probably offended dear Hermione's sensibilities, but I didn't much care.) "My name's Astoria Alice Sterling. I want your help. I know your name because you're the brightest witch of your year, or so they say."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Hermione Granger, although I suppose you already knew that," she finally said, her voice cold. "I don't suppose you mind telling me how you got onto the grounds, or what exactly you need my help with."

"Please. A first year could break in here," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Your friend Harry does it often enough, though he has that cloak instead of an animagus form. The map too."

"How did you know about that?" Hermione demanded.

I grinned evilly. "You just told me!" For a moment, I thought the other witch was going to explode, but I decided that that would probably not be the best idea. Not only would everyone miss her, but I'd _never_ be able to get the stains out of my robes. "I'm a Seer of sorts, I suppose you could say," I added quickly. "Now don't you look at me like that!" I warned, seeing her contempt for the subject. "Trelawney might be a fraud, but I'm not. I'll be honest and tell you that I only know one version of the future. And that's a future without me in it. Every time I intervene, that future gets farther and farther from the truth."

"That's impossible," Hermione pronounced firmly.

"Is it?" I shot back mildly. "You're a witch. Three years ago you would have said _that_ was impossible. That doesn't mean it wasn't true."

That shut her up right quick. "Horrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time," she warned weakly. "You shouldn't change the future."

"Yeah, and you're one to talk, Miss Time-Turner," I snapped, irritated now. "Besides, I only know what will happen if I _don't _do something. Doesn't that make it something different entirely?"

The witch looked at me shrewdly. "You're right, I suppose," she admitted, before smiling deviously at me. "Though, you passed the test about knowing things you shouldn't. Now I know you just aren't taking the mickey out of me."

I laughed appreciatively. "Touché," I called out. "Now, tonight. Here's what I want you to do."

* * *

I watched with no small amount of pride as the fully corporeal patronus in the shape of a stag scattered the dementors like bowling pins. In all honesty, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius hadn't needed my help tonight, and so far, I hadn't given it to them. All I had asked Hermione to do was to tether Buckbeak behind Hagrid's hut once it was all over, and go back to the infirmary. That was when my job began. I had closely watched the night's events however, and I knew that the younger witch had seen me more than once. Heck, I even bit at Lupin's heels when he got too close to Harry and Hermione for my liking. But I hadn't done anything else but watch, until now.

With a flick of my white-tipped tail, I set off at a fast clip towards the castle, deftly ducking through the bushes. I hadn't met Harry yet. Nor Ron. Not outside of watching them perform tonight, at least. But I hoped I would soon. I had a silent bet going with myself concerning how fast I could get one or both of them to blush hard enough to go entirely red within ten minutes.

Soon enough, I reached the castle proper, and stepped inside, glad for the change in temperature. (Scotland is as cold as a cheerleader's ass.) I was not so glad, however, of the flights and flights of stairs that I would be forced to climb to reach where Sirius was being held. (I had allowed Snape to reach the castle before me.) Still, I had to get there, and four legs _were_ better than two.

Ten minutes later, and I had decided that I never wanted to see another stair-step again in my entire life. Ever.

I shifted back into my human form, drew my wand, and blasted the door to Sirius's makeshift cell off its hinges. "Hiya, Padfoot," I greeted the man, who looked haunted and starved and wild, and yet still incredulous. "We're blowing this joint. Put this on." I tossed him a collar that was much like mine. His, of course, was labeled 'Snuffles'.

The man caught it and stared at me like _I_ was the crazy one.

"Look, it's that, the pull-off pants, or the dementors. Either way, we've gotta _go_!" I urged him, shifting back down into 'Sofie' and giving a little bark before turning and walking from the room. Unsurprisingly, I was joined by a large and particularly menacing black dog within moments. We had barely touched the first step leading downwards, however, when I heard the beating of massive wings and the clatter of hooves.

With a groan, I turned and shifted back in time to see both Harry and Hermione jump from Buckbeak's back. "Couldn't help yourself, could you Hermione?" I grumbled. "You could've been caught!"

"I had to make sure you really meant to save Sirius!" Hermione protested, while Harry and Sirius, who was once again a biped, just looked on in confusion.

I nodded. "Fair enough," I conceded. "It's not like I gave you a whole lot to trust me with." I extended my hand to Harry. "Name's Astoria," I said with a winsome smile. "Hermione and I met earlier."

"Harry," he responded in kind, giving me a firm handshake and watching my face with the most honestly beautiful pair of green eyes I'd ever seen in my life.

"That's quite a patronus. Be sure to conjure it when you're chatting up the girls and say you were thinking about them. Straight to the broom closet, I guarantee," I advised with a wink. The boy blushed a brilliant scarlet, and I gave myself silent congratulations while, behind me, Sirius snorted with laughter. "But enough of that. Sirius has _got_ to get out of here, yeah? Let's see how I like flying."

One by one, the four of us bowed to the hippogriff and clambered on. I made quite sure that poor, blushing Harry was sandwiched tightly between Hermione and myself, while Sirius hopped on behind me, snickering.

I can't say that Buckbeak's takeoff was smooth, nor was his landing. But I did enjoy the flight in the interim, as short as it was. We simply spiraled down into the courtyard, and I myself faded into the background and pretended to talk to Buckbeak while Sirius said his goodbyes. When he was done, however, I said my piece.

"Don't worry Harry," I said to the boy, who was visibly upset. Not that I blamed him, considering how shitty his life had been up to this point. I squeezed his arm gently. "I'm not letting your godfather out of my sight. He'll be safe with me, and I'll make sure he writes. See you around, okay?"

"Er, yes," he replied, looking both grateful and bewildered. "Who are you again?"

"Yes, who?" Sirius agreed, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I, Astoria Alice Sterling, swear on my life and magic that know things I shouldn't," I said, drawing my wand and holding it up in my right hand. "I know some of the future. I'm a friend, and I'm here to help you, Harry James Potter, and to defeat Voldemort. I mean no harm to Sirius Black, as he is your godfather. So mote it be." My wand flashed, and the oath took. This was something that I had read about in one of the books that I purchased from the store in Diagon Alley. One could not break a Magical Oath, upon pain of having their magic stripped away. It was another form of the Unbreakable Vow. Sirius and Hermione looked gobsmacked, but Harry just nodded, and I winked at him again.

"C'mon, Sirius," I said after a moment. "We gotta go, and so do these two."

The man just nodded and hauled himself on top of Buckbeak, who I decided was just a somewhat vicious teddy bear. Very sweet. Really. I clambered up after him, and gave Harry and Hermione a jaunty wave before Buckbeak launched himself into the air. Before long, Hogwarts was just a pinprick of light on the dark horizon.

* * *

**A/N: Feedback is more than welcome! Thanks for reading, and let me know how to improve!**


	3. Chapter 3: Secretary

**A/N: Just doing some storyline housekeeping. Can't have any plot holes, can I? Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

* * *

Home Sweet Universe: Chapter Three  
Secretary

* * *

Peace is a journey of a thousand miles and it must be taken one step at a time. These are the words of Lyndon B. Johnson, and it was something that traveling with Sirius Black forcibly reminded me of. The man was many things, but he was not at peace. Of course, after having suffered through inhumane psychological torture for years, who would be?

This world was a very dark and very foolish place. I probably should have gotten my bachelor's degree, and probably finished graduate school as well, before I decided to die. Although somehow I doubted that even as a fully trained psychologist I would have been able to help some of these people deal with everything that's happened to them.

I did not try to direct our flight. I merely hung on as Sirius steered Buckbeak on towards whatever destination that he had decided for himself. In fact, I nearly nodded off against the man's bony back, but my mind was too busy for me to do so. I was carefully planning the coming summer. I had until September first to prepare Harry as best I could for the Triwizard Tournament. I would do my damnedest to help him, and I knew that Sirius would do the same in a heartbeat. He was just like that.

After hours of flying, Buckbeak finally came in for a landing. We were still in the British Isles, as far as I could tell, but other than that, I hadn't the faintest idea where we were. The sun was just rising, filtering through the sparse leaves of the thin forest we now occupied.

Groaning my protest, I slid from Buckbeak's back and collapsed in a heap, legs feeling like jelly.

"I take it you like flying then," came the comment.

"Shut up, Pops. You haven't even _tried_ to move yet. You won't be laughing when you do," I grumbled.

Smirking at me, the man dismounted and landed on his feet, not wobbling in the least.

How he was able to do that after twelve years spent in a metal box was beyond me. "Yeah, well, at least I'm more attractive than you are," I snapped at him before snatching my wand from its holster and beginning to ward in a small area around where we were standing.

Sirius eyed me skeptically. "What are you doing, Ms. Sterling?" he asked.

"Warding. And you can call me Astoria," I said back, not pausing in my work. You'd have to know exactly where we were to find us to get to us, and no one did.

The man blinked. "I can see that. Why such a small space?"

I shrugged, finished. "It doesn't need to be that big," I offered, digging in my messenger bag for my trunk. Having found it, I expanded it and began burrowing through one of the compartments, wincing at the pinprick of blood I'd had to offer to open the latch.

Sirius just watched me work. "You're certainly prepared," he commented. "Do all women carry things like that in their purses?"

At this, I laughed. "You'd be surprised," I admitted, yanking the folded tent I had purchased from the trunk, closing it, and shrinking it back down before putting it back in the bag. "Magic lets you take packing to the next level."

One wand-tap later, the tent had expanded to fit within the warded area. The empty space left was for Buckbeak, who Sirius tethered within it. "Your palace, sir," I offered teasingly, gesturing with a sweeping curtsey to the doorflap of the tent.

Sirius laughed at me, and I gave myself an inner pat on the back. It was the first time I'd heard him laugh. One after the other, we stepped into the tent.

I agreed with Harry that wizard's tents were absolutely wonderful. It really was quite something to step into what you expected to be a crude shelter and have it turn out to be something more along the lines of a small apartment. This one had a living area, a kitchen, and two bedrooms each with two sets of bunk beds and a bathroom space. Everything had been done up in a cheerful green and yellow color scheme, and I could probably have fit the whole Weasley clan inside with an effort, although I daresay I wouldn't attempt to.

Immediately, I made my way to the kitchen. (What? I was hungry.) Sirius tried to follow me, but I pinned him with a stern look, pointing my wand at the bedroom on the left. "You. In there," I instructed. "Take a shower. You smell like hippogriff shit." (Something I could say with certainly, having spent enough time around Buckbeak to experience it.) "There's clothes in there too, although I'll have to get more now that I know your size."

Sirius blinked at me, clearly surprised and unused to being ordered around. "Yes, mum," he said cheekily, turning to do as I asked.

I shot a stinging hex at his _derriere _and watched with some amusement as the man yelped and practically ran the rest of the way.

* * *

My work was cut out for me, trying to bring Sirius Black back to full health. I knew this as soon as I saw how loosely the sweatpants and tee-shirt I had packed for him hung from his frame which, were it healthy, should have been full and muscular. It made me inexplicably sad to see such a vibrant person become this way having done nothing to deserve it.

I had made Mexican food, because having lived in the American southwest my whole life, I wasn't about to attempt anything British. I do believe it was the first time that Sirius had ever eaten pico de gallo, though he claimed to have eaten carnitas before. The fact that I was incapable of making what he referred to as 'normal food' seemed to amuse him to no end, and I don't think I've ever been teased as thoroughly in my life as I was just then.

I got revenge by making him drink an extra nutrition potion. Not that he did so without protest. "Come on, ickle Siri!" I coaxed as the man eyed the second flask with unmitigated disgust. "If you want to grow up big and strong, you have to eat your greens!"

He rolled his eyes and downed it like a shot of liqueur. "And if you hope to survive in England, ickle Stori," he ground out, "never try to imitate a British accent again. Ever."

I scowled at him, but remained quiet. It was probably good advice. "Well, _I'm_ going to bed," I finally stated. "Wake me up if Armageddon starts, will you?"

Sirius smirked and gave me a mocking salute. "Yes ma'am."

I nodded in a superior sort of way, turned on heel, and marched to the bedroom to the right of the tent. I used a switching spell to change into my nightclothes (as I couldn't be bothered to dress the normal way) and collapsed face-first into the nearest bunk. I was unconscious shortly thereafter.

* * *

I spent a full week living in that tent with Sirius Black. Not that I didn't make outings of course. I was constantly apparating in and out of our 'safe zone' to buy more clothes for Sirius, more food, pizza takeout, and to work on being 'Astoria Sterling' with the goblins and Wizengamot. With the goblins, I was rapidly gaining an excellent reputation as an uncannily astute investment shark, while with the Wizengamot, I had been deemed far too inquisitive for my own good. I had only attended two sessions, as they did not meet very often, but I had asked a lot of questions, many of which began with 'Why'. And really, can you blame me? I _still _wasn't sure why it was so important to decree that imported dragon hide from France must be at least a centimeter thick, while imported dragon hide from Germany must be at least a centimeter and a half thick. What was the point?

The old farts in the Wizengamot really didn't like me very much. I think they thought me impudent. They would be right.

Funnily enough, they were all very careful to speak politely to me. The name 'Sterling' struck fear in their hearts, as the name alone had power due to its age. I had power because of my money and perceived purity of my bloodline. It was a disappointing reminder of the state of the wizarding world, when an American nobody who could have been totally incompetent could suddenly became a powerful politician based only on her ancestry.

Sirius agreed with me, when I told him about my little adventures with the politicians, though he laughed at me far more than he helped. He himself never left my warded bubble of safety, although he often lay outside the tent with Buckbeak and just watched the sky. I suppose it'd been a long time since he'd seen it.

He was very much attached to Harry and his friends. He had even given me a letter for them and asked me to go to a nearby town and buy an owl to send it with. After adding a postscript assuring the three youths that we really were fine and having the camping trip of our lives, I wandered around the store, looking for the smallest and most hyperactive owl that I could possibly find…

And after having spent a week being force-fed twice the normal amount of food and health and nutrition potions, as well as being chased around by yours truly in fox form after he had 'decorated' my room with an unholy amount of rainbow streamers (Where he got them I haven't the faintest clue.) Sirius Black was looking far better than he had when I had first met him. Regular showers can do that to a person. I'd even cut his scraggly mane of hair.

"Be careful," I'd warned him once I was done. "Someone could almost mistake you as respectable!"

This time, _I_ was the one being chased around by a pissed-off canine.

At the end of the week, however, I decided that Sirius and I needed to address the one subject that I knew was most important to us both. Harry Potter.

"Alright, Sirius. We need to talk about what to do from here on out," I said, having finished my dinner. (Hamburgers and french fries. Sirius kept wanting to call them 'chips', but I told him he was just being stupid.)

Sirius raised an eyebrow at me. "What did you have in mind?" he asked. He had come a long way towards trusting me. At first, he only did so because I had made the oath to Harry. But we had become friends in the days following. I'd like to think he trusted me because he knew me, now, although I hadn't been able to tell him much more about how I knew what I did than I did with Hermione.

"We need to go and rescue Harry from the Dursleys," I said simply.

Sirius frowned. "I hardly think that forcing him from the home of his family and into the company of an escaped convict qualifies as 'rescuing', Stori," he pointed out.

I shook my head. "Sirius, you don't know how they treat him," I said solemnly. "Trust me when I say that if you knew, you really _would_ be a mass murderer."

"That bad?" Sirius gasped, sucking in a sharp breath.

"The first birthday present that he ever received was Hedwig, his owl, from Hagrid, when he came to give Harry his Hogwarts letter," I explained with a frown. "Hagrid was the one who had to tell Harry what a wizard was. Hagrid was the one who had to tell Harry that his parents weren't good-for-nothing drunks that died in a car crash. Harry didn't even have his own bedroom until the first Hogwarts letter that his 'family' received and destroyed was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs!"

By this time, Sirius was gripping the table so hard that his knuckles were white. "If this is a joke it's not funny," he warned, a dangerous light dancing in his dark eyes.

"It's not. Ask Harry yourself," I replied with certainty.

It took a few moments for Sirius to collect of himself again. "Right," he finally began. "So we need to rescue Harry from the Dursleys. What then?"

I grinned. "We go on a camping trip!" I said lightly. "We can go to the beach. Make a proper vacation out of it."

Sirius blinked.

"But Sirius, I need to know if you can take the Trace off of him," I asked—well… seriously.

Instantly, the man sitting across from me at the kitchen table eyed me suspiciously. "Why would I do that, even if I knew how?"

I rolled my eyes. "Really Sirius? You're telling me that the Marauders didn't know how to trick the Trace?" I asked, shaking my head. "You might want to remember. Terrible things will be happening this year, and Harry will be in danger. He's going to need all the help we can give him, training-wise, this summer, and I don't want to have to deal with snotty letters from the Ministry."

"What terrible things?" he asked, clearly surprised.

I clicked my tongue and sat back in my chair. "Well, for one, the Triwizard Tournament will be coming to Hogwarts this year, and no, I'm not fucking with you. It's true!" I exclaimed. "Igor Karkaroff and Barty Crouch in the same castle as Mad-Eye Moody, Severus Snape, and Harry Potter. Practically _begging_ the shit to hit the fan."

"All right, I see your point," Sirius admitted after a long moment of deliberation. "You were right. James and Remus figured out how to lift the Trace at the end of fifth year. I know the spell. I haven't a proper wand—just this worthless twig that I stole off some bint at the grocer's—but I could teach you the spell easy enough."

With a grin, I clapped my hands together excitedly. "Sweet! Let's get cracking!"

* * *

The next day, I and my faithful dog Snuffles took a rather sketchy-looking cab to Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey, from the Leaky Cauldron in London. It was a solid thirty-minute trip, and I was glad to see the last of the creepy cab driver that kept stealing long glances at me in the rearview mirror when he thought I wasn't looking. One look at Sirius's doggy face and I knew he was laughing at me. I kicked at him, but he skittered away fast enough that my foot didn't connect, and I decided that I'd just get revenge on him later. With careful, measured steps, I approached the front door of Number Four, and Sirius fell into step behind me.

I was very careful to dress as a proper mundane (the word I chose to use instead of muggle, which just seemed so demeaning). I wore a smooth black pencil skirt and a tight matching blazer over a very flattering pink blouse. I wore sensible shoes and had wrestled my wild brown curls into a semi-presentable updo, and I carried a small briefcase in one hand. (This was my messenger bag, which I had glamoured.) All in all, I appeared a well-off working woman. Sirius had said that I looked more like someone's idea of a sexy secretary, but I had simply turned to him sweetly and said that, since the only way to make a secretary permanent was to nail her to the desk, he'd better start looking for someone else who needed one, because _his_ nail wasn't big enough to do the trick.

I don't think I've ever had to run so fast.

Knock-knock-knock. My knock was crisp and polite. My mother used to say that I had no manners. Little did she know that I just chose not to use them.

The door was opened by a bony woman that could only be Petunia Dursley. I resisted the urge to grimace, and instead smiled sweetly. "Is this the Dursley residence?" I inquired.

"Yes. What do you want?" the woman asked bluntly.

I again resisted the urge to grit my teeth. "I have a business proposition for you and your husband that I believe will be very profitable. May I and my service dog come in?"

Petunia raised her eyebrows at 'Snuffles'. "Service dog?"

"My niece is blind. I take care of Snuffles while she's at school. I can assure you he's very well-behaved."

Looking like she was sucking on a lemon, the woman opened the door wider and stood aside, eyeing Sirius as if he were Lucifer himself crossing through her door. I shot her another sickeningly sweet smile and entered the home.

The place was as cold and sterile as the tables on which they performed enemas on the elderly. After catching sight of Mr. Dursley and his son in front of the TV, I would have almost preferred to have one than to be where I was. They were almost painful to look at. I really felt bad for poor Harry.

"Vernon, this young lady says she has a business proposition for us," Petunia called.

With a grunt, the man eyed me appreciatively. "Let's move to the drawing room, shall we?"

I nodded, Barbie-doll smile still plastered onto my face, and allowed myself to be shown into a seat in the formal sitting room. Once everyone was settled (Sirius on the floor by my feet) I began quite bluntly. "I have heard that you were saddled with a delinquent boy to care for as a massive burden to such proper people as yourselves. I come from the Troubled Youth's Association of Northern London. We were formed as a group to provide accommodations for orphaned children that are giving trouble to their adoptive families. Now, I understand that your nephew attends St. Brutis' Acadedemy for Incurably Criminal Boys for most of the year. I have come to offer that he stay at our facility for the remainder of that time. He won't be a burden to your lovely family any longer, and it won't cost you a thing. Government funding, you see."

The Dursleys just blinked at me. Sirius stared at me. I gave all three of them a dazzling smile.

"Those… _people_, who left him on our doorstep…" Vernon said, turning the same shade of purple that my eighth-grade PE teacher would turn when yelling at us to 'run, bitches, run!' "They wouldn't like that. They insisted that he stay here."

I nodded professionally. "Yes, we hear that a lot," I commiserated. "But don't worry. Anyone who takes issue with your nephew's relocation can answer to the government. It's only proper."

The Dursley's beady little eyes lit up like it was Christmas. "Yes. You're right. You're absolutely right. When can you take the freak?"

I took a tight hold of Sirius's collar to stop him from growling. "I've a car waiting just down the road. We can take him today, if you'd like."

Petunia looked at me curiously. "American?"

"I moved here four years ago."

"Who bloody cares if she's a bloody colonist? I'll call the boy now," Vernon growled.

I nodded politely and produced the paperwork that I had created for the occasion from my briefcase. "Just sign here and here, both of you," I instructed, handing each of them a pen. "Please make sure also that your nephew takes all of his belongings with him, as we would hate to inconvenience you by having to return."

The fuckers didn't even bother to read the papers they signed as they gave away their blood family to a stranger who hadn't even offered any form of identification. It was sickening, and from the strain Sirius was putting on his collar, I could tell he thought so too.

With a supreme effort, Vernon heaved his bulk to his feet and waddled out of the room towards the stairs, bellowing "BOY!"

An unsurprisingly short time later, Vernon thundered back down the stairs, Harry in tow. The boy looked upset, confused, and on edge. I could tell that he was gripping his wand tightly in his pocket as he dragged his trunk with the other hand. Hedwig was perched on his shoulder. He honestly looked terrible, too. Harry had already lost weight from the last time I had seen him, even though he had been back for less than a week, and the hand-me-down clothes he was wearing made me want to cringe.

Sirius, seeing him, let out a happy bark, and Harry jolted with surprise. But he was smart enough to school his reaction enough so that the Dursleys didn't notice.

"Is this him?" I asked in a crisp, professional tone of voice.

"Yes. And you're positive we'll never have to house him again?" Petunia queried, her horsey face absurdly hopeful.

I nodded. "It's taken care of, Mrs. Dursley," I said as I opened the front door for myself. "Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. It's been a pleasure doing business with you. You have a lovely home. The boy and I must be going though. We mustn't keep the car waiting."

"Of course, of course." Vernon nearly shoved Harry, Sirius, and I from the house. "Good day."

The door slammed, and the street was quiet.

Harry looked at me askance. "Astoria, Sirius? What are you doing?" he asked.

I grinned roguishly at him. "Rescuing you from your disgusting relatives, of course!" I exclaimed, taking him by the elbow and steering him firmly down the street as 'Snuffles' bounced all around us, clearly happy to see his godson.

The smile that soon spread over Harry's face practically glowed. "Did Uncle Vernon mean it when he said I'd never go back there?"

I snickered evilly. "Not unless you want to take the Weasley twins out for a bit of a field trip. You, Harry, are a free man."

The celebratory whoop that he let loose was cut off as I grabbed Sirius with my other hand and apparated away.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry gasped as soon as we landed by the tent in our warded bubble. We had moved it just that morning, and instead of being in the forest, we were now located on a deserted beach. I had drawn the wards so that they stretched all the way to the waterline. This way, even Sirius could swim.

Speaking of mangy mutts, Sirius had transformed and was laughing hysterically.

"Apparating's a bit rough," I admitted. "It's always better the first time with no warning."

Harry's death glare promised retribution, and with Sirius's help, I would no doubt soon pay. Trying to avert catastrophe, I grabbed Harry's arm again and dragged him past Buckbeak, who trilled a greeting, and into the tent.

"Welcome to our humble abode," I cried, dodging Hedwig, who was doing her best to clip me upside the head with her wings. She hadn't been too happy with her first apperation either. I pointed to the left. "You and Sirius sleep on that side." I pointed to the right. "I sleep on this side. You have free reign of everywhere but my bedroom."

Harry grinned, looking around him with interest. "It's brilliant," he pronounced. But then he looked a little bit confused. "But… now what?"

"Today is a day of fun," Sirius pronounced. He then winced. "But tomorrow, Stori has claimed you as her own."

I tried not to feel too offended that Harry looked genuinely terrified and glanced at his godfather for help. "Tomorrow is shopping day," I corrected firmly. "New wardrobe, both wizarding and muggle. Then we're having a bonfire with Dudley's old clothes."

"And after that?" Harry queried.

I grinned. "Why should I tell you? That would ruin the surprise!"

* * *

**A/N:  
**_**There once was an author like me,  
who held reviews as a reason to be.  
For them she'd implore,  
**__**then one day she got more**_,  
and lived on to ever-after, happily.

**(In case you didn't catch that, that was me being adorable and begging pretty-please for feedback. Please and thank you!) :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Growth

_A/N: I've gotten some really great reviews! So thank you, all of you. Enjoy._

* * *

Home Sweet Universe: Chapter Four  
Growth

* * *

Harry Potter was most definitely a Gryffindor. I learned this after watching him bravely face down the horrors of shopping with an overexcited woman, i.e. me. Nelson Mandela once said that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. That the brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear. There was definite fear in Harry's eyes as I paraded him all around both magical and mundane London, but he didn't complain. Not once!

Well, he did. But only after shopping was done for the day. The first time that Harry was ever angry with me was when we apparated outside of St. Mungos hospital.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, looking around him. The profession of the mediwitches was easily seen, and he frowned. "A hospital?"

I nodded. "St. Mungos Center for Magical Maladies," I informed him, leading him to a seat in the waiting room in which we had appeared. "You've an appointment in five minutes."

Harry started in surprise. "But, why?"

I cringed, but mustered up my inner Gryffindor to reply. "Harry, do you know what malnutrition is?" I asked delicately.

He snorted, tossing his messy black hair. "Of course I do. I'm not stupid."

"Right," I coughed, chastened, before growing serious again. "Harry, Sirius and I were worried that since you weren't fed properly by the Dursleys when you were younger, you might be suffering some ill effects."

I wasn't expecting Harry to leap to his feet, practically spitting sparks. "What the bloody hell are you playing at, Astoria?" he hissed. "You think there's something wrong with me? Is that it?"

Foot, meet mouth. Be friends.

"No Harry, not at all!" I gasped, backpedalling quickly. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. It's just, well… I was scared for you." My voice softened involuntarily, but I looked Harry full in the face. "Listen, you don't have to go if you don't want to. We can leave right now, no questions asked," I offered. "Just know that all I want is for you to be healthy and happy. Please want that for yourself, too," I finished, nearly begging for forgiveness. If I had known Harry was going to react this way, I wouldn't have made the appointment with the healer at all. But then again, maybe I would have, if I'd had reason enough to. There was just no way that a child could survive what Harry did without negative physical effects.

Slowly, Harry took his seat again. "Fair enough," he conceded, ruffling his hair. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Stori."

I grinned at the little nickname that Sirius had given me and Harry had picked up on. Ria used to call me Stori too, although they didn't know that. I still had horrible nightmares about my old life and dying, but it was little things like being called Stori again that made those dreams go away. It made me happy.

"Don't be sorry. I should have asked you," I deferred. Harry just shook his head and smiled at me, and we sat in the bustling waiting room in companionable silence. Harry was a sweet kid, and very easy to live with. He cooked a damn sight better than I did, that was for sure. Something that Sirius made certain I was aware of on an hourly basis since we had discovered that fact last night, when Harry had made dinner for us after a day of fun on the beach.

Harry and I were instantly friends. I, being nineteen, was much closer to his age than Sirius was, and I took on the spunky big sister role almost immediately when Sirius fell into his parenting niche. He was kind of the awkwardly responsible fun-loving uncle that all the kids love. Harry loved him too.

Of course, there were also moments where I would look into Harry's eyes and see someone that was much older than I was. Even after having died, I was sure that Harry's experiences far outweighed mine. It made me unspeakably sad.

"Ms. Sterling and company?" an attendant called out.

"C'mon Harry," I sighed, hopping to my feet and hooking myself on my young friend's arm. "Time to go."

We followed the attendant closely as she led as through the twists and turns of the hospital until we finally arrived at an empty room. There was a bare table for the patient and a few stools in one corner, but that was it. I lounged across some of the stools while Harry gingerly seated himself on the table, and we settled down to wait.

It seemed that magical doctors were very much like mundane ones, because it took quite a while for the actual healer to make an appearance. A nurse flitted in and out a few times, casting several diagnostic spells with her wand and jotting down the results on a clipboard before scurrying away again, but she didn't say much. I just contented myself with making ridiculous faces at her while her back was turned and watching as Harry struggled not to bust out laughing.

Finally, the healer arrived. She was tall and lanky and had a head of frizzy blonde hair, but her smile was pleasant and she seemed nice enough. "Hello, you must be Ms. Sterling?"

I nodded and shook the proffered hand.

"My name is Healer Brown and I specialize in growth and development, as requested," the healer continued. "Is your friend here my patient?"

"Yes ma'am," I answered cheerfully.

The healer then turned her attention to Harry. "And what's your name, young man?"

Harry shook her hand as well. "Harry Potter."

To her credit, while her eyes did widen impressively, the healer did not otherwise react. "Right. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Potter?"

"I can wait outside if you'd like, Harry," I offered before he could answer.

The boy shook his head. "Stay," he instructed, before giving Healer Brown a brief description of his living conditions as a child, followed by his concerns about how this may have affected him.

Healer Brown seemed to be personally insulted that someone would dare mistreat the great Harry Potter, and immediately devolved into a tornado of diagnostic spells. By the end of it, poor Harry was perched on the table in nothing but his boxers being poked and prodded by the wands of Healer Brown and the two other healers that she had called into the room. He looked supremely uncomfortable.

From across the room, I mouthed an apology at him, but Harry didn't look to be in any mood to forgive me at the moment. Not that I blamed him. He was wearing the same expression that my cat did when we gave her a bath in the sink. It made me want to edge away, even though I knew he didn't have any claws.

By the time we apparated back to our camp, Harry was _not_ a happy boy. He was now sentenced to weekly treatments at St. Mungos with Healer Brown, as well as a daily potion regimen. Apparently, neither was pleasant.

Neither was the dinner poor Sirius had burned—I mean, cooked—for us. I have the feeling that I wasn't the only one to go to bed hungry that night.

* * *

The next day, I used the spell that Sirius had taught me to block the Trace on Harry. I don't think the boy put his wand down all day, which was just as well, considering what Sirius and I put him through.

The first order of business was to teach him Occlumency. Both Sirius and I were very good at it, but I made sure that Sirius was the one to teach Harry. I wanted them to have the time together.

During 'my' half of the day, I worked with Harry on expanding his repertoire of spells, working on everything from charms to hexes to enchantments. I wanted him well ahead of his peers in knowledge, skill, and power, and sometimes I thought that I had my work cut out for me, but Harry surprised me by being an excellent student. He learned and performed at an amazing level over the following weeks, even at potions. It made me wonder at how well Harry could have done in his classes if he'd applied himself sooner. I could see Sirius wondering about the same thing, although we never talked about it. I think we were both just honestly happy to see Harry happy.

Almost more impressive were the physical changes that Harry underwent. The treatment he was receiving to overcome the affects of malnutrition was working wonders. In the span of just a few short weeks, he had grown a full five inches without showing any signs of stopping and had filled out considerably, his shoulders broadening and his limbs thickening. He had terrible growing pains, I knew, so I spiked his tea with ibuprofen in the mornings. I didn't tell him I did it, but I knew he knew, and that he was grateful.

Harry had also started growing out his hair. He let me trim it so that it didn't look like a matted mess, of course, but he liked what I did with layering so much that he decided he wanted it longer, like Sirius wore his. I put my foot down there, though. Nobody could pull off recovering inmate like Sirius could. Instead, I pulled out one of my mundane hair bands and pulled Harry's hair out of his face into a short ponytail.

From that day, he refused to return the hair band until I bought him some of his own, which I did happily. Longer hair really did make him look more grown up. So much so, in fact, that by the time he finally got rid of his glasses and replaced them with magical contacts (They fused to the eye permanently and self-updated their prescription. Horribly expensive, of course, but Harry said it was worth it. He even paid extra for them to be charmed so he could change their color at will, which I'll admit was a fun party trick.) he looked less like someone who was turning fourteen and more like someone who was turning sixteen. He was also turning out to be quite handsome, not that I'd admit it out loud. Sirius was convinced that he was going to follow in his footsteps and become Hogwarts' official ladies' man. He couldn't be prouder.

To counter this idea, I gave Harry my patented 'break a woman's heart and I'll break your face' lecture. I think he took it seriously, judging by the nervous looks he shot me for the rest of that week.

But perhaps the greatest thing I could say about how Harry grew under our tutelage was that he matured. He learned how to relax a little socially, and how to talk about more sensitive things without fucking it up so bad he'd end up a pariah. He learned how to handle frustration like an adult, and how to tackle problems in the same way. I almost couldn't believe that this was the same boy that I had spirited away from Privet Drive in my sexy secretary getup.

Almost too fast, the day came when the tiny owl that I had bought and Ron had kept arrived at our little beach haven carrying Harry's invitation to the Quidditch World Cup. Both Ron and Hermione were aware that Harry was no longer living with the Dursleys, but with Sirius and I, but I had asked Harry to tell them to keep this a secret. The fewer people who knew Harry's whereabouts in the summers, the fewer people could potentially harm him. No blood wards here.

"Look Sirius! Stori! Ron's dad managed to get tickets to the Quidditch World Cup!" Harry exclaimed while Pig zoomed around the tent excitedly. Hedwig just watched the smaller owl with narrowed eyes. "He says I can go with them, if I like! Can I? Can I?"

I just busted out laughing. Harry looked like an oversized toddler, dancing around like that.

Sirius smiled too, although his smile seemed a bit more sad. "The Weasleys are good people. Sure you can go," he said graciously. In response, he was immediately tackled to the ground with what was now affectionately nicknamed, the 'Harry hug'. I guess Harry was making up for lost time with enthusiasm, because once he became more comfortable with physical contact, his hugs became a whole lot more exciting. Exciting meaning painful, most days.

I, for one, sat down on the couch thoughtfully. "I'm coming with you," I decided out loud.

From their entanglement on the floor of the tent, both Harry and Sirius turned to stare at me. "Er, I don't think that the Weasley's have an extra ticket," Harry began uncomfortably.

I shook my head. "I meant that _Sofie_ is going with you," I corrected. "The World Cup is going to be full of strange wizards and sub-par security. _Someone's_ gotta make sure you don't biff it."

Harry frowned at me, sitting up. "Not that I don't appreciate it, Stori, but what about Sirius?" he asked.

By this time, Sirius had caught on to my plan, and was the one to speak. "I can take care of myself, kid. Besides, I don't think Stori's talking about _just_ the Cup," he pointed out with a wink in my direction. "There's going to be a special game of sorts at Hogwarts this year, and the castle's about to become a pretty dangerous place. I wouldn't put it past this one to follow you even there!"

I laughed at Harry's horrified expression. "Right in one!" I crowed. Sirius caught my eye then, and nodded. I nodded right back. We had an agreement, the two of us, hashed out within days of Harry's arrival. Harry comes first. Always. I did feel bad about leaving the man alone, and I imagined that he'd be quite lonely with both Harry and I gone, but we both understood that Harry would need me more than he did. He would agree with me even more fervently once Harry was entered into the tournament, and besides: now he didn't have to live as a dog. I'd taken good care of him.

"I won't be in the castle all the time. I do have a life, you know," I teased. "But I want to be there in case anything happens, yeah? And just imagine all the things people say in front of pets. I'll bet I could get you the juiciest gossip in the school!"

Harry seemed to consider this offer thoughtfully, while Sirius sat beside him, shaking with silent laughter. "You can come with me on one condition," he finally decreed.

I quirked an eyebrow and tossed my curly hair. "Oh?"

"You two," Harry gestured between Sirius and I, "have to teach me to do an animagus transformation."

"Deal!" Sirius and I exclaimed as one.

* * *

Two days later, we all had an admittedly tearful goodbye. Harry and I were going to the World Cup, the Burrow, and then Hogwarts, and Sirius was not. I would be visiting him, of course, and I told him as much, but it wasn't the same, and we all knew it. Sirius would be moving the camp again, after we left, so the only way we would be able to keep in contact was by owl or the talking mirror that Sirius gave to Harry.

"Take care of yourself, Sirius," Harry was saying, embracing his godfather. "Don't do anything too stupid."

"'Don't do anything stupid' my cute little ass!" I protested weakly. "Stupid is this jackass's middle name."

Harry and Sirius just glanced at each other and pulled me into their group hug, ignoring my squawked protests. But we couldn't put it off forever. Harry and I stepped away, and I held on to Harry's arm. (We had taught him to apparate just the week before, and I was letting him side-along apparate me to the Burrow. I had warned him, however, that if he splinched me, I would cut off one of his body parts. One that he would miss.)

"See you around, Pops. I'll owl you after the Cup, yeah?" I called to Sirius.

"You got it, Stori."

POP

And Harry and I were on the empty country road just outside of the Burrow, our dysfunctional little family rent apart. It reminded me of everything I had lost, and I found it a struggle to keep a firm grasp on my emotions.

Thank the gods above for Harry. As if sensing my distress, the boy pulled me into a brief, gentle hug, and smiled at me. "He'll be all right, Stori. So will we. You'll see," he told me.

"Thanks Harry," I whispered, giving his hand a squeeze before collapsing into the form of a silver fox, shaking a little so that the tag on my collar jingled. Operation Sofie was a-go.

I wound myself around Harry's legs once, chittering, before setting off in the direction of the Burrow, which I could see a ways down the road. Laughing, Harry followed, and I fell into step beside him, basking in the noonday sun glistening over my silvered fur. Harry was jealous, I knew. He hadn't been able to do much more than sprout a thin layer of fuzz over his skin in his first attempts at transformation. We hadn't been sure if it was fur or feathers.

"MUM! HARRY'S HERE!" came the shriek from the house as we neared the front door. The voice was feminine and youthful, but it didn't belong to Hermione. I assumed that it must be Ginny.

From the house streamed a torrent of redheads. I recognized Ron, as well as Ginny, seeing as she was the only female Weasley child. The twins were fairly obvious, being twins, but I didn't recognize Bill or Charlie until they were introduced to Harry.

I took an immediate liking to Bill and Charlie. They were, admittedly, very hot. As in, press one into a wall and wrap my legs around him hot. It was nice to see people my own age. It was nicer to see _attractive_ people my own age.

"Harry, what _have_ you been doing this summer? You've grown so much! And what have you done with your glasses?" Mrs. Weasley shrilled, gathering the teen into a huge hug. I could see where Harry had learned his 'Harry hugs' from. The woman was a master.

Laughing, Harry extracted himself and embraced his other friends, who were eyeing him appreciatively. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a pale green button-up that I had helped him pick out at a muggle store. They were very flattering on him and his new, larger frame. Between that and his longer hair and new contacts, if he hadn't already been relegated to 'little brother' status, I might have ventured to say he was almost as attractive as Bill or Charlie. Almost. I could tell that Ginny, for one, agreed with me on that point. Hermione wasn't there, so I wasn't able to see her reaction, unfortunately.

After much shouting and hugging, the group began to migrate inside for lunch. Ever the faithful pet, I followed, brushing against Mrs. Weasley's legs, who let out a piercing scream, scaring me so badly I started nearly a foot in the air before bolting and hiding behind Harry.

Damn woman was a chubby harpy. Next time I saw her in human form, _I_ was going to scream bloody murder. See how _she_ liked it.

Harry was laughing at me. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Weasley," he hooted. "That's just Sofie, my new pet. She's well-behaved, I promise."

The woman pressed a hand to her bosom and took a few deep breaths. "Sorry dear, she just startled me," she gasped as Ginny immediately fell to her knees and began fawning over me, smoothing my fur and scratching behind my ears.

I'll admit it felt nice, and not just because it was funny. I could see why domesticated animals loved to be petted. I will also admit that I tilted my head to the side to give my new best friend better access, chittering happily.

"Oh Harry, she's delightful!" Ginny cooed. "What sort of animal is she, though? She doesn't look like a dog."

"She's a silver fox," Harry explained, kicking Ron in the shin, whose eyes grew wide with sudden understanding. "Bloody smart little bugger. She just sort of adopted me at the beginning of the summer, and hasn't let me alone since."

After that, _everyone_ had to take a turn petting me. (And there are quite a few Weasleys.) Apparently, my fur was very pleasant to the touch. I completely reveled in all the attention, and judging from the way Harry's eyes were laughing at me, he knew it. I ignored him.

* * *

Hermione didn't arrive until ungodly late at night. I only noticed because I had chosen to sleep in Ginny's room, unable to take any more of Ron's rumbling snores, and had crawled up onto the foot of her bed and gone to sleep. Ginny's room smelled better too, come to think of it. I slept soundly at the girl's feet until Mrs. Weasley showed Hermione in and their soft voices drew me up from dreamland. It wasn't until the Weasley matriarch had left, however, that I jumped from Ginny's bed and greeted the other witch, who jolted in surprise.

"Astoria!" she gasped.

I sat down and pinned her with a reproachful look, jingling my collar.

Hermione had the good decency to blush. "Right. Sofie. Sorry," she muttered. "You're here with Harry, aren't you? To keep him safe."

I nodded my lupine head and flicked my tail.

"I'm glad," Hermione breathed out with a small smile. "But, why are you in Ginny's room?"

I pawed at my ears and did my best to look pathetic.

Hermione nodded her sympathy. "Ron really does snore loudly, doesn't he?"

My answering whine was all the answer she needed.

We indulged in a few minutes more idle quasi-chatter, but we were both tired. Besides, we had a Quidditch match to attend come the morning. We needed all the sleep we could get!

* * *

_A/N: Bit of a filler chapter, but I needed to prepare for the events of the Cup. (It's going to be pretty gosh darned exciting! Or... so I hope.)_


	5. Chapter 5: Flowers and Angels

_A/N: So, I've received two particularly nasty reviews that I'd like to address right now. Yes, I understand that some things in this fic are a little ridiculous. Yes, I understand that I've created a Mary-Sue. That doesn't excuse being rude, and I've deleted the two flames (which were uncalled for). If you don't like it, please, just don't read it. There's no reason to be cruel, because all I want to do is make people laugh. Ridiculous things happen because they're funny, or will be important later, if they aren't explained._

_That aside, I apologize in advance for the French. I had to use a translation site, because while I do speak Spanish, I most definitely do not speak French. My brother does, but he didn't want to help, the booger._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Home Sweet Universe: Chapter Five  
Angels and Flowers

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

Dream no small dreams, for they have no power to move the hearts of men. This is, at least, according to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Now, I don't think that I've ever been accused of being a small dreamer. If anything, I had always been told that I dream too much. However, I doubt that I could have ever dreamed the scene that greeted the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and I when we portkeyed to the campground of the Quidditch World Cup. If I had, I probably would have tried to get myself checked for drugs or something. Only a wizarding gathering could manage to look like a scene from an LSD-induced hallucination and still be real.

All this I decided before Harry had even set me down on my feet. (He had tucked me under one arm like a football before placing his hand on the portkey.) The next minutes passed in a daze, as soon as I was standing on my own, however. Fantastic displays of magic abounded _everywhere_. Laughing children zoomed around on toy broomsticks. Performers twirled their wands in clouds of fairy lights and flames. Fantastic tents with towers and chimneys loomed overhead, and merchandise of the competing teams—Ireland and Bulgaria—flooded vendor stalls left and right. I really did pity the Obliviators who were in charge of keeping the Statute of Secrecy.

I also pitied myself. I was almost trampled four separate times by drunken wizards! I blamed the Irish. I didn't think a Britain would start so early in the morning, but then again, there are exceptions to every stereotype. I was mostly just irritated that I'd had to dodge out of the way so quickly.

Upon entering the Weasley tent set up for the boys, I immediately relaxed. It was quieter here, and far less perilous for a creature of my stature. Not to mention the fact that by this time, I was very much accustomed to living in a wizarding tent. This one was not all that dissimilar to the one I had just so recently left.

I dithered and played around for the rest of the morning, mostly, and hung around the tent while Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins went out to explore the campground. There was plenty to see in the immediate vicinity, and I was none too eager to suffer any sort of trampling again. I nicked some really excellent food off of a careless group of witches from the Salem school, and spent the majority of the afternoon curled up in Charlie's lap, snoozing. The man absentmindedly petted me while he read a book he'd brought with him. He was a rather quiet and thoughtful sort of person. It was rather enjoyable.

* * *

As for the Quidditch itself, I hadn't much to say about it. The mood of the crowd was one of absolute fanaticism, but I had never personally been one for sports. Though I'll admit that just watching the crowd literally lose their minds when the Veela let loose was definitely worth the price of admission. (Even though for me, it was free.) Of those in the top box, only Harry was able to keep his head, albeit he adopted a strained, glazed look. I was proud of him for this, though I didn't hold their reactions against any of the other boys. (Heck, if I weren't such a die-hard fan of the male anatomy, I probably would have been pulling equally stupid stunts trying to catch the Veelas' attention too!) It was fun, but the _really_ fun part came _after_ the game had been won by Ireland (even though one Viktor Krum had caught the Snitch).

Unlike the others in the tent, I did not fall asleep as night fell. Instead, I waited, keeping watch over Harry's bed. And once I began to hear faint screams in the distance, I leaped to my feet and began dragging the covers off of my sleeping young friend, growling and chittering.

"Mmmph. Five more minutes, Stori," Harry groaned rolling over.

I let out an urgent bark and nipped at the hand he was dangling off the side of the bed.

"Bloody sodding hell, Stori!" he yelped, sitting straight up. He was angry at first, but I could see realization dawn in his eyes once he heard what I heard. "Bollucks. RON! GET UP!"

Mere moments later, Mr. Weasley burst in and began rousing everyone else from their slumber. After that point, chaos reigned. I wasn't quite sure what happened, to be honest, but I saw Ginny carted off with Percy and the twins while Bill and Charlie joined Arthur in running from the tent, wands in hand. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, of course, ended up together, joining the stream of panicked people pelting from the campsite and into the forest. I followed closely. I could hear quite clearly the cackles of the Death Eaters and the terrified screams of the mundanes that they were levitating and tormenting like a pack of cats playing with a mouse, and I felt afraid.

As it turned out, being a fox was not a good thing when trying to escape in the midst of a crowd of humans. As our little group neared the treeline, I actually _did_ get trampled, and tumbled to one side with a pained yelp.

I'd managed to take a stomp right in the ribs. _That_ was gonna feel awesome in the morning. Probably on par with how awesome I felt the morning after going to my cousin Jacob's birthday party and drinking the punch. (Which was, for the record, _not_ one of my better decisions.)

Fortunately for me, Harry heard my distress, and immediately whipped around and searched the ground until he found me. "Bloody buggering Death Eaters. Couldn't let me have fun, could they?" he was swearing as he scooped me up, tucked me under one arm again, and charged through the thinning press of people like a linebacker.

Unfortunately, we seemed to have lost Ron and Hermione.

The forest, as we entered it, seemed eerily empty and quiet, even though I knew there had to be hundreds of people running through it like chickens with their heads cut off. Harry put me back down, and together, we moved deeper at a brisk pace. Every once in a while, we'd (sometimes literally) run into another person, but most people just emitted frightened squeaks and bolted off too quickly to speak with. Both Harry and I worried for Ron and Hermione and the others. After briefly encountering a panicked man who started taking swings at him with his fists, Harry drew his wand from the holster on his forearm and gripped it tightly.

At least there was that. Barty Crouch Jr. didn't have Harry's wand, although I could almost guarantee he'd jacked someone else's in lieu of it. He'd been in the box with us, after all. At least, Winky was. And I knew very well that she didn't ever go far from her Master's son.

A terrified scream cut into the muffled silence around us, and I looked around wildly. That sounded like a child. Screaming children never meant anything good.

True to from, Harry, after making sure I was following, tore into the forest in the direction that the scream had come from. The sight that met us as we burst in upon the source wasn't a nice one.

Two men were seemingly attacking a little girl. One was smothering her cries with his hand as she tried to bite him, and the other was conjuring ropes to bind her wrists and ankles.

This pissed me off, and I immediately vowed to shove the wands of the attackers so far up their asses they'd be sneezing stunners.

With a vicious snarl, I leaped at the one holding the girl, teeth bared, while Harry shot out a series of stunners from his wand. The man I had attacked was so surprised that he dropped the girl and was hit by one of Harry's stunners that had rebounded over the hastily erected shield that his partner had cast. I turned, ready to leap upon the other man, but he was already out cold.

Clever boy. Harry had, seeing that he wasn't about to hit him with a stunner, summoned a rock from behind his opponent. Flying towards Harry, it had clipped the man on the head hard enough to disorient him. The next stunner hit him dead on.

I nodded at Harry, glad that all the dueling he'd practiced with Sirius and I had paid off. He nodded back, and moved to collect the wands of his opponents.

On the ground, the little girl was crying. I immediately went to her, chittering softly and licking her face as I checked for injuries. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, she seemed to be unharmed.

And boy was she cute. One look at her pretty much incapacitated me and transformed me into a puddle of maternal goo.

She looked to be about eight years old, maybe nine, and had a beautiful head of silvery-blonde hair, as well as large, innocent blue eyes. She was like a porcelain doll, though she was now tugging on the bindings on her hands in between her whimpering sobs.

Carefully, I took ahold of one of the ropes with my teeth and tugged, freeing her hands. Harry, seeing what I was doing, did the same with her feet. He wisely chose not to come closer however, and merely sat on the ground there, waiting.

Tenderly, I nosed the girl on her cheek, and she stopped crying, although she still eyed Harry warily. She slipped a hand under my collar, and I could feel her shaking. After a moment, she rattled of a few quick sentences in French.

Harry blinked in confusion while I frowned (insofar as was possible on a fox's face). My French wasn't the greatest, but I could get by if I needed to. From what I caught of the girl's quick speech, she was asking who Harry was and if the bad men were gone and if we had seen her big sister. But it was not like I could translate, masquerading as a fox and all.

"Er, I'm afraid I don't speak French," Harry apologized, looking sheepish and ruffling his own hair, even though it was still long and pulled back. This just made it stick out awkwardly. "I suppose I'll just start simple then. Hullo, I'm Harry." He stuck out his hand for her to shake, green eyes soft.

The girl appeared resigned. "Gabrielle," she offered, carefully taking Harry's offered hand and shaking it. I just stared at her, shocked. If this was Gabrielle Delacour, Fate had a wicked sense of humor. "'Zank-you," Gabrielle added, screwing up her face in concentration, obviously trying to recall anything she knew of English as best she could. I realized with humor that Gabrielle was wearing a pink pajama suit that had little white unicorns sewn onto the hems of the sleeves and pant legs, with matching little silk slippers.

Harry grinned lopsidedly at her before standing and helping the little blonde to her feet. "It's nice to meet you Gabrielle."

Gabrielle smiled weakly back at him. She still hadn't released my collar. "'Arry, avez-vous vu ma soeur?" she asked, before adding with difficulty, "My seester."

Luckily, Harry seemed to understand. "I'll help you find your sister," he promised. His eyes met mine and sparked with a little mischief. "So will Sofie."

Gabrielle's beautiful blue eyes focused on me. "Sofie?" she asked, pointing at me with her free hand for clarification.

Harry nodded, and I nuzzled her lightly. (Sue me. She was freaking adorable, and I was already wrapped around her little finger.)

With that, the three of us set off. Gabrielle held onto the leather of my collar with one hand and gripped Harry's hand with the other. Harry had his wand drawn and lit, on the lookout for threats, but I could tell our newest and youngest friend had charmed him as well. I made a mental note to tease him about it later. We moved perpendicular to the treeline, guided only by wandlight, and were unusually quiet. The silence was only broken by Gabrielle's occasional calls of, "Fleur!" or "Maman!" or "Papa!" She talked to me a little bit too, in French, cursing the bad men who stole little Veela like her and took them away from their families forever.

The very thought sickened me, but I couldn't deny that the chaos of the night provided an excellent opportunity for people like the sick bastards we'd disarmed to kidnap a Veela. I was fervently glad that Harry and I had been separated from the group.

My musings were shattered, however, by a farrago of screams that suddenly erupted from the forest around us. I looked up sharply as our forward movement suddenly came to a halt, and was treated to the sight of the Dark Mark poisoning the velvet of the sky. Gabrielle squeaked in fear, and Harry growled in anger. And then we moved on, trying to ignore it. It was all we _could_ do. Panicking never helped anybody.

After what seemed like forever, but was in reality probably more like ten minutes, I finally heard what I had been hoping to hear. A few moments later, Harry and Gabrielle heard it too. A distinctly feminine voice, laced with utter panic, was calling out, "Gabrielle! Gabrielle, où êtes-vous? S'il vous plaît, Gabrielle, ma petite. Gabrielle!" The desperation I heard made my heart clench.

I chittered loudly as Gabrielle let out a squeal of happiness and relief, dragging Harry and I towards the sound of the voice. "Fleur! Je suis ici, Fleur!" she cried out, practically bouncing. "Je suis ici, Fleur, je suis ici!"

From the trees in front of us burst a frantic young witch who seemed an older version of young Gabrielle. She too had long, silvery blonde hair and startling blue eyes, and she was probably the most attractive woman I'd ever seen. Again, if I didn't have such a deep appreciation of men, I totally would have turned then and there.

Funnily enough, she even wore similar unicorn-embroidered pajamas and slippers, although hers were blue instead of pink. The vision of the two matching sisters was possibly the most adorable thing I'd seen all week.

Gabrielle, catching sight of her older sister, let go of Harry and I and tackled her sibling in a tight hug, crying, "Fleur!" Fleur hugged her right back and burst into tears.

"Gabrielle, ma petite. J'étais tellement effrayée!"

Gabrielle kissed Fleur's cheeks comfortingly. "J'avais peur aussi, Fleur. Mais il m'a sauvé," she cooed in her little voice.

Fleur's eyes widened, and she looked sharply at Harry, who was currently scratching me behind the ears. (He knew that I liked this. Sirius had done it once over the summer, and I had practically fallen to pieces. Both of the boys thought it was terribly funny.) "Ees zis true?" she asked in heavily accented English. "What 'append?"

Much to my relief, Harry answered politely and succinctly. I could tell that Fleur didn't have much control over her allure at the moment, and I was worried that Harry would be affected, but it seemed he could handle himself just fine. "Sofie and I," He gestured at me. "were running through the woods when we heard screaming," he explained. His face darkened. "I followed, and found two wizards tying Gabrielle up with ropes. So I stunned them and took their wands, and we've been helping Gabrielle look for you ever since then."

Gabrielle added her own commentary in a rapid burst of speech that came too quick for me to understand, but it clearly affected Fleur. The older witch rushed up to Harry and kissed him firmly on both cheeks, much to his shock.

"Zank you evair so much!" she cried. "Zank you for 'elping my leetle seester."

Harry blinked, then grinned at her cheekily. "It really was my pleasure, Miss…?"

"Fleur. You must call me Fleur," she said with a dazzling smile.

"Harry," came the reply, smile matched for smile.

I shook my head in wonderment. Well, there went my preconceived notions of how the World Cup was going to go. I wasn't sure whether to pat myself on the back or feel concerned. Mother always did say that I had all the subtlety of a train wreck. Harry seemed like he rather liked Fleur though (And let's be honest here. What teenaged boy wouldn't?) so I figured that whatever I'd done to change things couldn't be all that bad.

"Come, Gabrielle," Fleur was saying. "_Maman_ and Papa 'ave been worried!" She touched Harry's shoulder. "My parents weell want to meet you, 'Arry," she told him. "Weell you come?"

Harry looked at me, and I nodded my head in approval. We could trust the Delacours, so far as I knew, and I hadn't the slightest idea where to find the Weasleys anyways.

"I'd be honored to," Harry answered, ruffling his own hair again. Gabrielle giggled at him, hanging off her sister's arm.

With that, our group, now larger by one, turned and started walking back through the forest. It was quieter now, and I surmised that the panic was over, now that the shock of seeing the Dark Mark had worn off and the Death Eaters had scattered. Gabrielle was very tired though, and began to stumble at the halfway point on our trek back to the camp grounds.

I nipped at the edge of Harry's sweater, forcing him to take notice.

"Do you want me to carry you, Gabrielle?" he asked, slowing.

Clearly not understanding, the adorable little girl looked up with wide eyes to her sister, who translated in a gentle tone of voice that I hadn't expected to hear from her.

Once the language barrier had been broken, Gabrielle held out her arms to Harry, who I realized was taller than Fleur. (She herself was smaller than I had expected her to be.) "Oui," she said sleepily. Harry smiled and lifted the pink-clad girl up and shifted her so she was clinging to his back like a cherubic monkey.

I wasn't sure whether to tease Harry for being whipped, or dissolve into a puddle of Astoria-goo because the moment was so sweet. I was definitely sending this memory to Sirius with my owl. One look at Fleur told me she faced the same conflict, although I still couldn't quite take her seriously in the blue unicorn pajamas. (Who would have thought that Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour wore matching unicorn bedclothes?) She could hardly be an ice queen while wearing them. Especially standing next to her little sister.

The trek resumed, Gabrielle dozing on Harry's back, until the campsite came into full view as we cleared the tree line. I winced, the smell of smoke stinging my sensitive nose. While most of the camp remained largely unharmed, it was clear to any observer where the Death Eaters had marched through. A swath of destruction lay in their wake, strewn with smoldering tent-bits. I just hoped no one had been killed.

I could feel rather than see Harry's frown, and I rubbed myself up against the leg of his jeans in what I hoped was a comforting motion. I guess it was somewhat effective, because Harry immediately averted his eyes from the damage and the Dark Mark that was only now fading from the sky. "Where's your tent, Fleur?" he asked quietly.

Fleur too seemed disturbed by the sight before her, but at the sound of Harry's questioning, she seemed to shake herself and pointed to our far left. "Eet ees over 'ere," she explained. "My Papa works at ze French Meenistry. Zere ees a 'ole section reserved for zose from a foreign Meenistry over 'ere. Ze English trying to impress us, I zink."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and followed Fleur's lead. I kept an eye on the surroundings. Lost-looking witches and wizards trickled from the forest and wandered around the camp, looking for family members and belongings. They all looked shaken and disturbed. It was very sad, but I was glad to see a good amount of Aurors and Ministry employees trying to take control of the situation. It was something, at least. I just hoped the others were safe.

Before long, we had stopped in front of a plain tent in the section reserved for officials of the French Ministry. Gabrielle was snoring delicately, and Fleur shot Harry an uncertain smile before pulling the doorflap aside and ushering Harry in. I scampered closely behind.

"_Maman,_ Papa!" she called out ahead of her. "Je suis de retour. J'ai trouvé Gabrielle!"

"Fleur, ma petite chérie!" came the exclamation as the eldest sister was greeted by a kindly-looking man and an extraordinarily beautiful woman. I assumed these to be Fleur and Gabrielle's parents, as they were currently showering both girls in affection. (Gabrielle was only half-awake, and hadn't lifted her head from Harry's shoulder, but she seemed pleased to be receiving the attention.)

Harry, of course, appeared supremely uncomfortable. Pity that foxes couldn't laugh. If they could, I would have been doing it. Loudly. As it was, I contented myself with emitting a quiet almost-purr. Close enough, right?

"And who ees thees young man?" Madame Delacour asked after pausing for breath between the kisses she was applying to little Gabrielle's face, seemingly just noticing that a green-eyed stranger was carrying her daughter and that she was practically mugging him. (Though if I were Harry, I wouldn't have minded too much. Madame Delacour definitely fell firmly under the category of MILF.)

Fleur jumped right in before Harry could answer, beaming. "Thees ees 'Arry!" she proclaimed. "'Ee ees ze one who 'elped Gabrielle when we were separated!"

Harry was blushing profusely now, but Fleur talked right over him, rendering the story quickly in French. By the time she was done, Harry was decidedly red, and the Delacours appeared suitably impressed.

As they should be, I thought. Sirius and I put _way_ too much work into pounding skills and good sense into this kid's head for them to not be!

"Zank you, 'Arry. You 'ave spared our Gabrielle from a 'orrible ordeal," Monsieur Delacaur said solemnly, shaking Harry's hand firmly. "I am Sébastien Delacour, and zis ees my wife, Apolline Delacour. I take eet you already know my daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Harry said with a shy smile. "And your daughters as well. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

I was pleasantly surprised that not one of the Delacours shouted or pointed or stuttered or gawped unashamedly at Harry's scar. They did look surprised, but were tactful about it, at least. Gabrielle had already fallen back asleep.

"Ze pleasure ees all ours, 'Arry. And I insist zat you call us Sébastien and Apolline," Monsieur Delacour replied with good humor. "After all, you do seem to be our Gabrielle's new bed, non?"

"I reckon you're right about that, Sébastien," Harry admitted, grinning.

Everyone laughed softly at that, and Apolline moved to pry Gabrielle off of Harry so that she could sleep in her own camp-bed. It took a little maneuvering, but eventually the task was accomplished, with Fleur planting a tender kiss to her sister's forehead as her mother carried her away.

It made me miss my own sister, although we'd never been as close as these two seemed to be.

Sébastien clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Where ees your camp, 'Arry? Weell you be able to get zere safely?"

I huffed a little air. "It's on the other side of the grounds," Harry admitted, before adding quickly, "But I'll be fine. I've got Sofie with me."

In reality he could just apparate and save the walk, although both he and I were perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, but I was glad Harry deemed it best not to mention that little detail.

All three conscious Delacours appeared horrified, however.

"'Arry, you cannot cross ze whole camp after everyzing zat 'as 'appened tonight!" Fleur gasped, clutching at her father's arm. "Eet ees 'orribly dangerous. You can spend ze night 'ere. Can't 'e, Papa?"

Harry shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, I won't impose. I'll be fine, really!" he assured them.

I snorted. Noble idiot. But it was part of his charm, I supposed.

"Fleur ees right, 'Arry," Sébastien said firmly. "I am sure zat your family weell understand eef you do not return tonight. We 'ave an owl, eef you would like to use eet."

Deciding to intervene, I nipped at Harry's heels, caught his eye, and very deliberately sat down, swishing my white-tipped tail.

"All right, if it's not too much trouble…" Harry agreed reluctantly, after deliberating for a long moment.

Fleur gave him a smile warm enough to melt the ice in _my_ soul.

I yipped, getting Harry's attention again, before looking up at his face, the ground, and back up to his face. Harry knelt to my level. Very deliberately, I poked a paw to where his wand holster was strapped to his arm, and then proceeded to do my best to imitate a pair of antlers.

Very hard to do when you're a quadruped and have only paws, by the way. It was probably the most humiliating thing I'd done all week.

Harry palmed himself in the face. "You're right, Sofie. I completely forgot about that!" he exclaimed, standing back up.

I allowed myself to look visibly smug.

"Pardon me for a moment. I've got to contact my best mate's dad. He'll be worried about me, but I'll only be just outside," Harry explained to the Delacours, who appeared mildly curious.

Apolline dipped her silvery head graciously. "Of course, 'Arry."

Smiling, Harry and I ducked outside. Fleur followed so closely that she nearly stepped on my tail. I liked her though, so I wasn't really upset.

To be honest, since arriving here, I hadn't given Fleur Delacour more than a fleeting thought. I didn't think she was going to be an important player in the game I was playing. I had a feeling now that I was very wrong.

If Harry noticed Fleur's presence, he didn't comment upon it. Drawing his wand, he took a moment to concentrate. The night had grown very chilly, and there were fewer people wandering about like lost souls, now. It was quiet. _"Fatuor Patronum!"_ he barked out quite suddenly.

In a subdued burst of light, Prongs the patronus made an appearance.

"Mr. Weasley, it's me, Harry. I'm safe, and staying on the foreign ministry side of camp with the Delacours for the night. I'll floo back to the Burrow tomorrow morning," Harry enunciated clearly. He then twisted his wand, and Prongs bounded away to relay his message to Arthur Weasley. Only then did he turn and notice his audience of one.

"Was zat a fully corporeal patronus?" Fleur asked faintly.

Harry nodded sheepishly. "I call him Prongs," he informed her with a winning smile.

"You are teaching me 'ow to do zat," she instructed him firmly.

I didn't doubt for a moment that he would.

* * *

_A/N: I did promise an appearance of Fleur, didn't I? How'd you like it? :)_


	6. Chapter 6: Tangles and Changes

**A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews! We won't meet Fleur again after this chapter until the Triwizard, but fear not! It is not so very far away.**

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Home Sweet Universe: Chapter 6  
Tangles and Changes

* * *

Oscar Wilde once said that experience is the one thing you can't get for nothing. I knew this very well, but it was something I was reminded of in the quiet of the Delacour's tent. It seemed that all wizard's tents were similar, and this one was much the same as my own and the Weasley's. It was decorated in blue though, and was furnished with far more class than any I'd been in before. It was very… French. Not that it mattered anyways, seeing as it was still dark.

I couldn't sleep that night. Harry, on the other hand, didn't have a hard time at all, the little brat. He was currently sprawled out all over the Delacours' couch, breathing evenly. I knew he was sleeping lightly though. The ungodly amount of pranks that Sirius had pulled on him over the summer while he was sleeping had taught him to either wake easily or to set wards that woke him when others drew near. (I wasn't sure if I should feel bad about that, seeing as _I_ had inflicted Sirius upon the poor boy, or fiercely satisfied enough to shout out 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE' like Mad-Eye Moody.)

I myself was still trapped as 'Sofie' and was curled in the center of the floor rug, my eyes tracing the room around me restlessly. I was thinking, mostly, though I was keeping a sharp eye out for any danger to Harry. I pondered the enigma that Fleur Delacour had become. It seemed prudent to do so anyways, considering she was sleeping in the next room not ten feet away from me.

The first order of business was to admit that I knew next to nothing about her. I knew that she was destined to become the Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion. I knew that her grandmother was a Veela. I knew that she treasured her sister, Gabrielle, above anyone else. I knew that she was a powerful witch, by anyone's estimation. I knew she was fiercely loyal to those she loved. I knew that, without any interference from my presence in this world, she would have gone on to marry Bill Weasley.

But with the events of the night taking place as they did, I wasn't sure of _anything_ anymore. Things were changing. Was that a good thing? I was uncertain.

I _did_ know, however, that this first meeting between the two future Champions set a very different tone for their relationship than their 'original' had. This one wasn't hostile, for one. In fact, from what little interaction had taken place the night before between the two of them, I felt fairly confident in saying that the pair of them were now friends. Insofar as one could consider someone a friend after only just meeting them, of course.

But that was the only thing I was sure of.

I needed to see Sirius, but that would have to wait until September, after Harry had been safely delivered to Hogwarts. I wouldn't be able to stay with Harry there for more than a few days in a week, and I would need Sirius's help for what I planned to do on the days I was absent.

I must have dozed off at that point, because after what seemed to be only moments, I opened my eyes again when I heard a faint scuffling to my left. The sky outside the tent was only just beginning to pale, and the world was still deathly silent, aside from the noise that had awoken me. Harry was still fast asleep.

Suspicious, I got to my feet and peered around the couch before letting out a little sigh of relief. It was only Fleur, stumbling blearily into the kitchenette. (How she managed to stumble gracefully was beyond me.) I trotted over to her, curious.

Humming a little, the witch gave me an absentminded scratch behind the ears before bending over to rummage through the icebox. I, being the polite little stalker that I am, averted my eyes from Fleur's rather shapely _derriere_ and waited for her to resurface. She was still wearing those ridiculous blue pajamas with the unicorns embroidered on the hems. They were rather dirty from her little adventure through the forest the night before, and the top two buttons were undone, as if she had fallen asleep in the process of changing them. I was admittedly impressed by the state of her hair though. It was still bright and silky-looking, as ever, and fell down to the small of her back in a smooth, shimmering sheet, absolutely perfect and unmussed, despite everything she'd put it through the night before. Paint me green and call me jealous. Hair that perfect should be illegal.

Fleur produced a bowl of large strawberries and a tall glass of milk, half of which she poured into a saucer and placed on the ground by her feet as she settled herself in a chair at the little dining table. "_For you, Sofie,"_ she murmured quietly in French when I made no move towards it.

I was honestly surprised at her thoughtfulness. I had never been fed as an animal before, and I hadn't expected Fleur to do so, certainly. But she had, as if it were nothing. Maybe to her it was, but to me, it wasn't. I respected her brand of casual generosity.

Carefully, I moved to the dish and started on drinking the milk. Which was, by the way, extremely hard to do by just lapping it up. I remembered from when I was young, the cafeteria in my elementary school was always plastered with those posters depicting happy children with milk mustaches and empty glasses in their hands. 'Got Milk?' they would say. I had never really drunk milk as a child, but I did now, and it wasn't pretty. It didn't take me long to get the hang of it, but on my first attempt at drinking my impromptu breakfast, I splashed milk all over my nose. I expect the surprise on my fox-face was quite the sight, as Fleur erupted into little giggles that she smothered into her hands.

I was more careful, after that.

"_You're funny, Sofie,"_ Fleur told me, still speaking in her native language. I suppose she assumed it wouldn't matter to me, what language she spoke in, considering that I was supposed to be an animal. I was just glad that she didn't seem to be in the sort of mood to speak quickly, and that I could still understand her. It would have driven me up the wall if I couldn't understand what she was saying. If she had been speaking Spanish, it would have been a bit easier, as my Spanish was better than my French, but I made do.

The pair of us turned our attention to our respective snacks for the moment. I had finally figured out the mechanics of being an animal, and Fleur was popping the plump little strawberries into her mouth one by one, her mouth stained pink and a pensive stare glazing her eyes. _"Your Master is special," _she finally said, turning her gaze to Harry and brushing her fingertips over my head.

I was almost too distracted by imagining how hard Harry would laugh if he'd heard Fleur refer to him as my Master to catch the rest of her musings, but I managed it. Barely.

"_I was not in control of myself last night. _Maman_ was upset with me," _she admitted. _"I was so scared for Gabrielle I let my _allure_ out in full. It is very lucky that your Harry was not reduced to a gibbering moron. I have never met one so able to resist me before and yet still—how shall I say it?—be attracted to women."_

Hm. Interesting. I hadn't known that. Was it just Harry, or the Occlumency that Sirius had taught him that allowed him to think with the head on his shoulders rather than the head on his pelvis? Perhaps it was a combination of both that helped him. I didn't know. From what I recalled, Harry had never really been overcome by Fleur's _allure_ anyways. Perhaps he had a natural resistance.

A thought occurred to me. Poor Fleur. She was such a painfully beautiful creature. Men would lust after her and women would hate her. She must be so lonely.

Perhaps Fleur would have furthered her monologue, and perhaps not. She was interrupted, however, by the arrival of Gabrielle, who dragged herself from her bedroom scrubbing her eyes sleepily. Conveniently, upon seeing Harry, her sleepiness seemed to instantly evaporate and she immediately leaped upon him with an excited squeal, startling him awake.

He fell off the couch. I stole a strawberry from Fleur's bowl while she was too busy laughing at him to notice. It was a good start to the morning.

* * *

The Delacours, as it happened, hadn't Portkeyed to the Cup. Apparently, international Portkeys—legal ones, that is—were regulated in such a way that one could only Portkey from one Ministry to another. It was a smart idea, I supposed, so that people weren't popping up all over random countries willy-nilly. (For the most part, anyways. Accidents do happen.)

This meant that Harry was side-along apparated with the Delacours into the Ministry Atrium. There were several Floo stations there, apparently, and Harry assured Apolline repeatedly that he would be able to Floo back to his friend's house just fine from there.

Luckily for me, I had already seen the Atrium more than once, because had this been my first time, I wouldn't have seen jack-shit. The Atrium was absolutely _packed_ with people, hustling this way and that. Some were congregating around the elevators and Floos, while others bunched around the news stands ("Dark Mark Appears at World Cup!") while still others stopped dead in their tracks when they caught sight of Apolline and Fleur Delacour. (Gabrielle was much too young to garner this kind of attention.)

It was both sad and amusing to witness grown wizards making complete fools of themselves. They shamelessly stared as they passed by slower than was strictly necessary, their eyes trailing all over the two women in ways that made _me_ uncomfortable. What was worse was that the entire family appeared to be used to it. If you looked closely, you could see the irritation in their eyes, but each of them kept their poise.

Harry for one, appeared far less calm, and was visibly agitated, although he didn't say anything as the group made their way through the crowds towards the Floos. It was clear that he didn't like how the female Delacours were being treated, but it was also clear he didn't think it his place to interfere. This was smart, I decided, as it probably wouldn't help anything if Harry made a scene.

Gabrielle had been carrying me this entire time, having insisted when she saw Harry getting ready for side-along Apparation. I didn't mind too much. Gabrielle was cute, for one, and she held me securely enough that I didn't fear for my life.

"Thees ees your stop, Monsieur Potter," Sébastien said as we drew up to a fireplace. "Zank you again for what you deed for Gabrielle. You are an excellent young man, non? We weell not forget."

Harry (the darling little thing) blushed slightly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. He really was a charmer, though he didn't know it. I made a mental note to sit down with him and teach him how to take a complement with more grace, though his current embarrassment _was_ endearing. I could tell that Fleur and Apolline thought so, anyways. (Most likely Gabrielle as well, though seeing how I was entrapped in her arms, I couldn't actually see her face.)

"It's nothing, really," Harry stammered, still red. "I'm sure someone else would have come along and done just the same as me, honest. Any decent bloke would have."

"But zey deedn't, deed zey?" Fleur pointed out. "You deed." With that, she planted a firm kiss on each of his cheeks. "You weell write, oui?" she asked, in a tone of voice that made it sound more like a demand as opposed to a question.

Harry just nodded dumbly, if possible, still redder.

Gabrielle giggled and shoved me into Harry's arms, where he fumbled me for a moment until he found a more secure hold. (Not the most pleasant experience, I assure you. I felt sorry for lap dogs.) "Au revoir, 'Arry," she sighed, imitating her sister and standing up on her tip-toes to kiss Harry's cheeks, squashing me in between her chest and Harry's. I stayed quiet though. The moment was just too cute to ruin, and I really was enjoying the knowing parental gazes that Sébastien and Apolline were leveling at their daughters, which Fleur was studiously ignoring and Gabrielle was oblivious to.

"I'll be sure to write to you too, Gabrielle," Harry assured her with a grin as she pulled away. "You can have your sister translate."

Clearly, Gabrielle didn't understand what he had said to her, but she gave him a glowing smile regardless.

"Thank you for letting me spend the night. I'm really glad I met you all. It's been brilliant!" Harry called to the Delacours before taking a pinch of floo powder from the bowl on the mantle, tossing it into the fireplace, and disappearing with a cry of, "The Burrow!"

It was at this point that I made a resolution—a resolution that would affect the quality of life of myself (and possibly others) for the rest of eternity. I would never, under any circumstances, floo travel with one Harry Potter ever again. Ever. I equated the decision to the decision to obey traffic laws, or the decision to stop smoking. It was a healthy and logical life choice.

Harry, and therefore I by extension, tumbled into the Weasley's living room like we were shot out of a cannon. (Only Harry seemed to be able to manage this type of violent floo entry.) I ended up half-crushed beneath my young friend's left leg, stirring feebly and trying not to toss my cookies.

I hadn't even recovered yet when Harry was attacked—er, hugged—by Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, Harry dear we've been so _worried_ about you!" she screeched, yanking him to his feet and smothering him. I doubted the poor boy could breathe. But, as I struggled to my feet, I didn't feel inclined to help him much. Especially when Hermione joined the hug-party in a small whirlwind of bushy hair.

"How could you do that to us?" she was wailing, sounding more than a little hysterical. "One minute you were there and the next you _weren't_, and Ron had his wand stolen and we were so _frightened_ for you and we were searching _everywhere_ for you, and then the Dark Mark was cast and there was this house elf called Winky that belonged to Mr. Crouch who they said cast it because she had Ron's wand but she _can't_ have done it, and Mr. Weasley took us back to the tents and nobody had seen you anywhere and we were panicking and then you just sent a bloody _Patronus_!" she drew back from her hug and socked Harry rather hard in the bicep. I was just impressed that she could still move so violently without having taken a breath in the past five minutes. Hermione was a witch of many talents, it seemed. "How could you think that it was in any way acceptable to just send one measly _Patronus_? You… you… you…" At this point, she seemed to run out of words to describe Harry's pigheadedness and returned to hugging him.

"I'm sorry Hermione, Mrs. Weasley. I didn't mean for you to worry. I had Sofie with me, and she'd have made sure I was all right," Harry offered meekly before being summarily shushed.

"Good to see you, mate," Ron exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Reckon you had a right better time than we did last night, away from all the action."

Harry laughed. "You could say that," he conceded. "Certainly didn't lose my wand though. What've I told you about keeping it in your back pocket, mate?"

Ron grinned sheepishly. "I reckoned you'd take the mickey out of me for that."

"Definitely," Harry assured him.

Harry was finally released when the twins burst into the room, followed by a harassed-looking Arthur Weasley.

"Harry, we knew we heard your voice!" the twins exclaimed in perfect unison.

(Seriously. That shit was freaky. They _had_ to have planned it.)

"We also heard that you—"

"—spent the night in the—"

"—foreign Ministry section of the camp with—"

"—a French family."

"Exactly how fetching are the French women?" Perfect unison again, after alternating for a bit.

Needless to say that Harry was blushing Weasley red again. He _had_ to be related to these people.

* * *

After Mrs. Weasley had tried to feed Harry a third breakfast (He had eaten with the Delacours that morning and the woman had begun feeding him again almost as soon as she had released him from her hug.) he, Ron, and Hermione eventually escaped and beckoned me up to Ron's room.

It was a tight squeeze, and hard to see clearly what with all the blindingly bright orange decorations everywhere (Chudley Canons), but we managed it.

Harry, drawing his wand, quickly cast several privacy charms on the room. Hermione appeared scandalized that he would dare use magic outside of school, and was clearly gearing up for an explosive lecture if Ron's sudden panic was any indicator, when I shifted back into human form, stretching luxuriously. _Man_ did it feel good to be me again!

If any of you were wondering what it's like to be an animal for an extended period of time, I wouldn't recommend it. It gets less fun the longer you're trapped, and you eventually come to the realization that humans are just about the only animals who don't eat their own feces. (Not that I ever ate _mine_, but it's kind of hard to ignore the fact that it's even an _urge_. Having animalistic instincts is _definitely_ fucked up when you still think like a human.)

"Re_lax_, Hermione," I laughed. "You've got a stick shoved so far up your ass you're sneezing splinters! Give Harry a little credit. It's not like the Ministry can detect him or anything. Sirius and I took the Trace off him—kid's squeaky clean."

It was faintly amusing to watch curiosity and offence chase themselves across the witch's features. Eventually, curiosity won. "How did you do _that_?"

This appeared to be something Ron was eager to learn as well. I didn't think I'd seen him pay such close attention to anything that wasn't Quidditch _ever_.

"If you're good, I'll take the Trace of the two of you as well," I offered with a mischievous smirk, which Harry matched. "But the four of us have got to talk, first."

Ron's freckled face reflected the appropriate amount of horror. Let's be honest, the words 'we need to talk' have been engrained in the male psyche to translate directly to 'WARNING: SHIT'S ABOUT TO GO DOWN AND YOU'RE NOT GONNA LIKE IT.' The poor boy was only acting on instinct. (Something I could relate to.)

Still, I'd like to think that our current little talk would be less… dramatic, than that.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Ron. Stick. Ass. Remove it," I grunted, pleased with the fact that he reddened. (That's two-for-two, people.) "But that aside, I suppose I should introduce myself, seeing as we've only met as troll and mutt. Hello, Ronald Bilius Weasley. I'm Astoria Alice Sterling. Pleased to meet you." With that, I offered my hand for the boy to shake, which he did so, despite the fact that Harry—who was seated on the bed beside him—was laughing quietly at him.

"Er, hello," he offered.

I smiled charmingly (or what I _thought_ was charmingly, at any rate) and continued, this time addressing Harry. "I'll be in and out for the next few days. I've matters to attend to in the Wizengamot before you go to Hogwarts," I informed him. "Well, not the Wizengamot, really. Just a few of its members that are curious enough about their newest coworker to meet with me concerning a new business venture."

"Are you still set on trying to create that Lycanthropy Society thing?" Harry groaned. "Sirius and I have both told you that Purebloods will _never_ fund a facility that uses Muggle science."

"Wait, you're in the Wizengamot?" Hermione interrupted.

"Never mind _that_, Hermione. What's Muggle science?" interjected Ron.

I just blinked, before deciding to ignore Harry and Ron for the moment and address Hermione. "Yes, I've got a seat in the Wizengamot," I confirmed, pointing at the signet ring on my finger. "The Sterling seat, to be exact."

"I thought that witches and wizards were _elected_ to the Wizengamot," Hermione stated stubbornly, twisting on the cot we were seated on. "No offence, Astoria, but you clearly haven't been in England long. Why do you have a seat in the government? Are you even a citizen?"

"I'm a citizen _now_," I defended myself in a quasi-whine. Almost like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Almost. The wolfish grin that crossed my face kind of ruined the effect. "The Goblins can do just about anything… for a price. I've a seat on the Wizengamot because I'm the last member of the Sterling family, and therefore the Sterling Head of House. House Sterling is an Ancient and Noble House. That gives me privileges, the Wizengamot seat being only one of them," I explained.

Hermione still wasn't satisfied. Harry seemed fairly curious too, while Ron only looked bored. I expected that he knew most of this already. "But what about elections?" the girl insisted. Compared to the long, lanky figure of Ron and the tall, compact figure of Harry, she looked positively tiny. It was rather cute.

"Houses die out," I said simply, shrugging. "Houses that are labeled Ancient and Noble have familial seats. When they die out, those seats are passed on to the Head of a Noble House by majority vote in the Wizengamot for the remainder of that Head of House's life. When_ they_ die, the process repeats. Originally, there were twenty Ancient and Noble Houses, though now there are only eight (and with the advent of the Sterlings, nine). The vacant seats have all been passed on to proxies from Noble Houses. No one House can possess more than one seat, though, and many Heads of Noble Houses choose to occupy one of the thirty other seats that are filled through various other means, such as nomination or election. Wizards live a long time though. The seats rarely change hands."

"So… when you submitted your claim to the Sterling seat…" Harry began in such a way that I knew it was a question.

"My claim superseded the elected Head of House already in place, yes," I confirmed. "Some grumpy old fart representing the head of the Noble House of Krueger, if memory serves. Didn't pay that much attention."

Hermione's face was now mirroring Ron's previous expression of horror. "Only Purebloods are allowed into the Wizengamot?" she squeaked.

I frowned. "Yes and no…" I replied hesitantly, running an agitated hand through the tangled mess of curls masquerading as my hair. "Technically, there is no rule saying that a Half-blood or Muggleborn _can't_ be elected to a seat. Wizards didn't just spring from the ground, you know. Every Pureblood magical line started with a Muggleborn, so it can be argued that a Muggleborn is the first and only member of their magical family, making them their own Head of House. There's legal precedent and all that nonsense," came the elaboration as I waved my hand vaguely in an effort to express myself. "A Half-blood's, or more specifically a Muggleborn's, chances to take a seat in the Wizengamot don't rely on if they _can_ be elected, but if they _will_ be elected. With the Supremacist environment as strong as it is, I doubt it."

"But they had to let _you_ in, no fuss?"

"No fuss," I agreed.

I might be mistaken, but I was now fairly certain I had pissed Hermione off.

"Look, if I could change it I would…" I began awkwardly, but the witch just shook her head.

"It's not your fault," she said tersely.

Yeah, maybe not. But with _that_ tone of voice, I wasn't taking any chances. I decided that the safe thing to do was to change the subject. Quickly.

"Anywho, as dear Harry was ever so graciously teasing me about, I _do_ have a side project," I blurted out. "I call it the Lycanthropy Project. Basically, I'll be trying to set up an integrated lab to examine the Lycanthropy virus using both Muggle and magical means. Hopefully find a cure, though a treatment would do."

Hermione snapped out of her funk immediately. "You might actually find something!" she predicted happily. "No offence to magical medicine, but Muggles really have developed a far greater working knowledge of microbiology and genetics than anyone in the magical world ever has. If anything could find a cure or treatment for those poor werewolves, it would be a Muggle-style laboratory."

"Exactly!" I cried, feeling vindicated. Screw Ginny, Hermione was my new favorite. She agreed with me. "Both Sirius and Harry keep telling me it won't work!"

Harry snorted. "That's because you'll never get those Malfoy-puppets to fund anything of the sort," he informed me. "Might as well skip that meeting and find a new hobby, or even hang around the Burrow. You'll have to cure stupidity before you cure werewolves."

Ron and Hermione seemed to both agree with this assessment and shot me sad looks.

"Dear Harry, ye of little faith," I purred, adopting a sultry expression and batting my eyelashes at him. "One day you'll realize that there's more than one type of magic."

I was glad for the silencing wards Harry had placed on the room, as Harry chucked his pillow at me, and I topped straight into Hermione, sending the two of us sprawling on the floor. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone inspire as much fear in Harry as Hermione did right then with the glare she shot him from our tangle. Not even Voldemort. She was a feisty little thing, that's for damn sure.


	7. Chapter 7: Good Intentions

_A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. They really do help, and always inspire me! Here's to hoping this chapter does a bit of explaining. Up next: adventures at Hogwarts!_

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Home Sweet Universe: Chapter Seven

Good Intentions

* * *

It was once expressed by Brendan Francis that a man is already halfway in love with any woman who listens to him. Now, I don't know about _love_, but I was certainly surprised at how much Harry came to care for one Fleur Delacour—despite only ever having met her once—by the time that they had exchanged a mere two letters over the week following the Quidditch World Cup. I probably wouldn't have even known about this development either, if I hadn't arrived back at the Burrow uncharacteristically late on the evening of August 29 after a long day of trying to hunt down any witch or wizard well versed in Muggle microbiology, biochemistry, or genetics. (A nearly impossible task, by the way. Magic and Muggle science generally didn't mix.)

Ron's bedroom had become a sort of haven for me to be Astoria as opposed to Sofie, and it was here that I spent much of the evenings teaching Ron and Hermione in much the same way that Sirius and I had taught Harry. Harry practiced some of the more complex spells on his own in the far corner. (He was currently attempting to master permanent enchanting and combat transfiguration.) It was here that I headed as soon as I arrived, though I could tell from the volume of the snores emanating through the closed door that Ron, and most likely Hermione, had already gone to sleep. The rest of the house had, in any case. It was a rare occasion to find some semblance of quiet at the Burrow, but it could usually be found late at night. Usually.

This is why I gave it a fifty percent chance that Harry was awake.

Because, you see, that was just how Harry worked. Men, I had discovered, don't think like women. They don't dream like women. They don't process information or handle stress like women. Sexist? Maybe. Accurate? Yes. Unlike women, men had a quiet sort of way of processing, for the most part. Harry more so than most others. He liked to brood, quietly, and alone. It was just how Harry was.

I nosed open the door and slipped inside. (How the orange plastered all over the room was still obnoxiously bright enough to glow in the dark, I had no idea. Perhaps it was magic. Perhaps it was just heinous enough to defy physics.) Harry was sitting on the edge of his cot, staring off into space, as predicted. I shoved the door closed again and shifted back to human form, lazily casting a silencing ward on the room with a swish of my wand. It wouldn't do to have Molly Weasley busting in to hamstring me.

"You're up late," I commented, sitting next to him. I wasn't concerned about waking Ron. He could sleep through a Death Eater attack, I was convinced.

"So are you," Harry shot back, not missing a beat. He would have, at the beginning of this summer, but not so now. I had to freely admit responsibility for his mouth, though I didn't doubt that Sirius had helped a great deal.

I nodded equitably. "Picked these up for you while I was out," I said, handing him a new package of hair ties. They were Gryffindor red, with gold stripes. I had enchanted them to sing rude songs about Slytherins when he tapped them with his wand. "Thought you might like them."

Harry took them with a grateful smile. "Did I ever tell you that you're the best?" he asked, pulling one free and replacing the plain black tie he was currently wearing, snickering in an evil sort of way as it started in on a chipper ditty about how the stereotypical Slytherin snide attitude was really a compensation for undersized genitals. (What? I'd had fun.)

"Yes, but not nearly often enough," I complained in good humor. "Anything on your mind tonight, Mister Silent and Mysterious?"

Harry released a small snort of laughter. "Nothing _you_ need to worry about."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Fine," I pouted, before pulling a letter from my light summer robes. (Pink and flowy, and as Harry stated when I'd bought them, utterly and repulsively feminine.) "Hey, do you think I could borrow Hedwig? It was too late to find a mail owl by the time I stopped by Diagon Alley."

Imagine my intrigue when Harry blushed as red as when I'd started a running commentary on the merits of the quality of the rear ends of the passerby while we had ice cream at Florean's.

"She's… not here," Harry said.

I arched one eyebrow delicately. "Oh?" I asked, drawing out the vowel. "And where might she be?"

"She's off with a letter," Harry sniffed, avoiding my eyes.

That was his tell. You could see if he was lying in his eyes, and he wouldn't look at you if he didn't want you to know something. "Busted," I pronounced firmly, smelling the blood in the water. "Where is she? Who are you writing to?"

With a groan, Harry accepted defeat. "France. Hedwig's in France. I wrote Fleur."

This surprised me. Harry hadn't mentioned Fleur again at all that week, as far as I knew, and Harry had never written to Fleur in the sequence of events I was previously familiar with. Why was he doing so now? Was it because they met without antagonism and suspicion this time around? Was it because Harry possessed a newfound confidence and happiness after a summer of training and laughing with Sirius and I? (That had been one of Sirius's goals, or so he'd told me. He wanted Harry to feel confidence in himself, and be able to laugh freely.) Was it the fact that it was summer now, and Harry hadn't any classwork to keep him occupied? I couldn't put my finger on it, and I would likely never do so. The change was indefinable for someone on the outside, like me, but it must have been there.

Either way, if writing to Fleur made Harry happy, I would never object. "Way to go, Harry!" I cheered instead, giving him a lewd wink. "You have good taste. A French Veela? Lucky man."

"I'm not—we're—I—we're just _friends_, Stori!" Harry spluttered indignantly.

I just giggled. "I'm going to teach you to talk to women," I told him. "You'll be a regular Casanova by the time I'm done with you!"

Harry hit me with a pillow. "Not funny! And besides, Sirius already gave me that talk."

Not good! "Harry," I began very seriously, fixing him in a panicked grey-eyed gaze. "Under no circumstances are you to follow your idiot godfather's advice on dealing with women," I instructed. "Ever."

Harry pursed his lips and gave himself red eyes with his magical contacts. It was freaky and he knew it.

I cleared my throat. "Right. First thing's first, the best trick is to make her feel important. All girls want to feel like they're the center of your universe, and it's not too hard to make them feel that way."

"_Stori_!" Harry protested, rolling his eyes. (They were back to his normal green again.)

I summarily ignored him. He was a _guy_. Therefore, he needed all the help I could give him. "Body language is important," I plowed on. "Make sure it's open. Don't cross your arms or legs, and make sure to angle your body to face the girl, especially when she's speaking." I demonstrated, twisting on the cot. "Little touches are good too. On the forearms. The knees. The shoulder or small of the back, if you're walking. Whatever you feel comfortable with." I touched the fingers of my right hand to each of the places I had named, using my own body as an example.

"_Stori_," Harry tried again. But again, I ignored him.

"The very _best_ thing to do is also the easiest," I confided in him. This, at least, earned Harry's reluctant attention. "Eye contact. No matter how long you hold it, if you do it right, it's the most powerful tool in your arsenal. Honest!" I exclaimed, seeing Harry's doubtful expression. "She's saying something, you look right into her eyes, like you're telling her she's important enough to have your undivided attention, even if it's only for a moment. Guaranteed to make her toes curl, every time," I promised.

Harry made a face at me. "Are you done yet?"

"So long as you remember that advice and never forget it," I stipulated.

"Very well."

A short silence.

"So how many letters have you two sent to each other?"

"_Astoria!_"

"_What_?"

* * *

In the end, I was forced to bargain with Harry in exchange for such juicy information. This resulted in my getting a small bit of petty revenge against Molly Weasley for scaring me so badly when we first 'met'. It was a pretty good deal, in all actuality.

As it turned out, after the scare at the Cup, the Weasley matriarch had gone absolutely bat-shit crazy about defending her babies. She was a kind-hearted woman, admittedly, so the crazy she was exuding smothered even Harry and Hermione, not to mention poor Ron, who was her biological child. All three of the Golden Trio felt caged-in and uncomfortably bored. Again, even Hermione. Harry's request was to bust them out for a day of fun at Diagon Alley. He had initially wanted to meet up with Sirius instead, but after contacting the man through Harry's enchanted mirror, we all decided that this probably wasn't the best idea. So Diagon Alley it was. Harry said that he had some shopping to do anyways. While he wouldn't tell me specifically what it was he needed to buy, I strongly suspected his sudden urge to shop was directly related to the fact that Fleur's birthday was only a little over two weeks away (on the eighteenth of September).

I wondered if I would ever tire of making Harry blush.

I was already in a good mood that morning, having received an owl from Sirius that expressed just _how_ entertaining he'd found the memories I'd sent him from the World Cup, which was very. (We'd made a pitstop at Grimmauld Place earlier in the summer. Harry had met Mrs. Black, much to his displeasure, Sirius had retrieved his old family pensieve, and I had earned the eternal adoration of Kreacher when I surreptitiously cornered him and destroyed the locket with the Basilisk fang where the boys couldn't see.) It seemed that Sirius had found a new place to camp for a while, and was planning to stay there for the next two weeks before moving on. He'd been panicked when he'd seen the World Cup edition of the Daily Prophet, but had managed to keep his head and not rush after Harry immediately. He was lonely, but doing well, all things considered.

It was about eleven in the morning when I apparated back outside the Burrow, having left earlier in the morning to change clothes and relax in the small apartment I'd rented. (Or, as the people around me insisted I call it as soon as they heard me say 'apartment', my flat.) I was dressed in a way to make myself seem older than I was, and had schooled my face into a carefully friendly expression. Not too cheerful, mind you, but just the proper mix and seriousness and lightheartedness.

Wasting no time, I stepped down the path to the front gate, opened it, and knocked crisply on the Burrow's front door. One of the twins (I randomly guessed it was Fred, giving myself a fifty percent chance that I was right.) answered it and looked at me curiously.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley. I'm here to see Harry. Is he in?" I greeted courteously.

The maybe-Fred blinked. "Just a mo'," he offered before shutting the door. I could hear his bellow quite clearly despite this however: something that made me smile just a little wider. "MUM! A strange American woman is at the door and wants to see Harry!"

There was a pause, a fair bit of unintelligible yelling from multiple sources, and a somewhat violent-sounding scuffle before the door reopened. Not only had the other twin arrived, but also Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione.

"Stori!" Harry exclaimed happily, acting surprised to see me. "I didn't think you could make it!"

"Yeah, well, I had to cut my trip to France a week short," I sighed, secretly enjoying the histrionics of the story I was making up on the spot. "But I promised I'd take you out for a day, didn't I? You don't go to Hogwarts until tomorrow, so I figured I'd stop by and see if you were up for a trip to Diagon Alley. Ron and Hermione can come too, of course."

"Brilliant!" the two friends exclaimed in perfect unison. They glanced at each other, surprised, and laughed lightly.

Molly, however, did not seem so amused. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded.

"Oh, how terribly rude of me!" I exclaimed, offering my hand for her to shake. "Astoria Alice Sterling, at your service, ma'am. You must be Molly Weasley. Harry says such wonderful things about you!"

This seemed to mollify her slightly, though she still looked at me suspiciously. "He hasn't said much about _you_, Ms. Sterling," she responded, shaking my hand firmly.

I shrugged. "We only met this summer," I admitted. "Ran into him when I was visiting a Muggle friend of mine. I promised to take him out though, didn't I Harry?"

"Good to see you kept your word. Seem a bit shady to me," the boy joked.

"Oi! I am perfectly respectable, thank you very much!" I sniffed. Then I smiled at Molly. "Would you mind too terribly if I borrowed Harry, Hermione, and your son for the day, Mrs. Weasley? We'll just be doing a little shopping, and I'll have them right back here in time for dinner."

The woman seemed uncomfortable. "I don't really know you Ms. Sterling—"

"Call me Astoria," I threw in helpfully.

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interrupted, leveling his wand at me calmly. I stayed calm as well, though the Weasleys and Hermione stared at Harry as if her were insane, protesting. Harry ignored them, as Sirius had taught him. "What was the first thing you said to me about my patronus?" he asked.

"That you should use it to pick up women," I answered, smirking.

Harry grinned. "It's her," he announced. Fred and George were looking at me with new respect. "She's a member of the Wizengamot, Mrs. Weasley," he explained. "Stori will make sure we're safe."

Mrs. Weasley started in surprise. "Really?" she asked.

"Fresh off the boat and the Goblins are telling me that I'm the last surviving member of an Ancient and Noble House," I explained with a pleasant smile. "Would it be acceptable for the four of us to use your floo?"

The sudden influx of information seemed to fluster the woman enough to let me in. "Oh. Of—of course."

"_Ronald!_ Astoria made it after all!" Hermione was yelling up the haphazard stairs. "Dress presentably!"

"And who said that you could go, young lady?" Molly asked sternly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Mrs. Weasley?" I asked sweetly. "I understand that you'd be rightly cautious after that fiasco at the World Cup, but I can assure you that your son and his friends will be perfectly safe with me. I _am_ a fully qualified witch, you know," I promised with a trace of amusement.

Molly hesitated, clearly on the fence.

I shot a look at Harry. There was only so much I could do, after all. But I was fairly certain that Mrs. Weasley's soft spot for Harry could do much more than I could at this point. When Harry still didn't act, I kicked him rather hard (though discreetly) in the shin.

_That_ worked.

Finally getting it, Harry quickly rearranged his features to look pathetic. "Mrs. Weasley, it was Astoria who first took me shopping for clothes just for me. Ones that weren't Dudley's first," he said softly. "She's been a great friend to me, and I know she'll be a great friend to Ron and Hermione too."

It was oddly impressive.

Mrs. Weasley cracked. "Make sure you're home for dinner," she sighed. Harry let out a whoop, and thundered up the stairs to get Ron. Hermione just gave me a glowing smile. I realized that she was really beautiful, then. Just in a way that was easy not to notice.

Within moments, Harry returned, Ron in tow, and the three of them practically shoved me into the fireplace.

We had a good time that day. Hermione was very witty, and Ron was a charmingly simple soul. Harry, of course, was Harry. The three of them were so happy to be out and about, it almost made me feel bad about charming their hair Slytherin silver and green as a prank. Almost. We spent quite a bit of time browsing various bookshops at Hermione's insistance. Ron griped rather loudly about this, but Harry didn't seem to mind so much. Ron, of course, forced a stop at the Quidditch supply store, and Harry even managed to sneak off and find a present for Fleur (though he refused to tell me what it was) while Hermione and I were tearing through Gladrags. It was exhausting, but well worth it.

Molly insisted I stay for dinner as well. It was nice to be eating _at_ the table as opposed to under it.

* * *

The train ride to Hogwarts was an uneventful sort of thing, except for the moment when Harry conjured a Sofie-sized carrier. He took entirely too much pleasure in chasing me down and stuffing me inside. Said Hedwig and I could be friends, the cheeky little bastard.

Either way, the moment the House Elves finished transporting all of the luggage (including myself and Hedwig) into the dorms, I freed myself from my prison and leaped up onto Harry's bed, passive-aggressively willing myself to shed. (It didn't work, but the thought made me feel a little better regardless.)

Gryffindor Tower was actually quite a nice place. It was large and cheerfully decorated, and had no shortage of comfortable niches in which to huddle up and study. The large windows provided an excellent view of the castle grounds (which were far colder than they looked) that I couldn't help but appreciate, and the entire place was suffused with the smell of sugar cookies. (I wasn't sure if this was intentional or not. One could never tell, could they?)

I used the time that I had to myself with all of the students at the welcoming feast to explore Harry's home. The girls' dorms were very much the same as the boys', though their bathrooms were larger, and I was even able to take the opportunity (after carefully temporarily warding the room so as not to be observed in my human form) to charm the Weasley twins' trunks to sing a surprisingly large collection of the works of David Bowie whenever opened, like large music boxes. I figured that of all people, Fred and George would appreciate it.

After the first twenty minutes or so, however, I retreated back to the fourth year boys' dorm and leaped up onto Harry's mattress before transforming and pulling the curtains, warding them lightly for privacy, just in case. I reached into my ever-present messenger bag and withdrew my copy of the Marauder's Map, tapping it with my wand and muttering the password. All of the labeled dots I could see were crammed into the Great Hall, making it almost impossible to read the names in the cases of the students. It was easy to see who sat at the head table, however, and I couldn't help but narrow my eyes at the 'Barty Crouch' script that hovered there.

I hadn't told Harry—or _anyone_, for that matter—about what I knew was going to happen at the end of this year. About how 'Professor Moody' wasn't really Moody at all. I hadn't told Harry about the Prophecy. Did that make me just as bad as Dumbledore? I didn't know.

I just wanted Harry to be _happy_. He was a sweet kid, and had a wicked sense of humor. He didn't deserve the sort of life he'd been living. I knew perfectly well that Harry had a right to know everything I did, and that he would want to know it, too. But I didn't want to tell him. Not right away.

Staring at those little dots that were people, I thought about what I planned to do.

I wouldn't be staying at the castle for long. I had already contacted Remus Lupin under the guise of wanting to discuss the Lycanthropy Project (which wasn't truly a guise, seeing as I did actually want to talk to the man about it) and had set a date to meet at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch in two days. From there, I planned to bring him to Sirius's camp. I would need both men's help for the horcrux hunt, after all. I wasn't a powerful witch by any stretch of the imagination, though I had good technical skill, and I worried that I wouldn't be able to retrieve the other horcruxes by myself. The remaining Marauders were the only ones I knew I could trust with something so important. Aside from Dumbledore, of course, but I really was trying to avoid getting the man involved: he really was far too meddlesome for his own good, and I didn't want to have to deal with that. He had good intentions, but so did the road to Hell; not that I could begrudge anyone fighting Voldemort their mistakes. After all, there is no way to determine what's right in a war. Only what's left.

Thus my dilemma.

Things had to stay the same. Otherwise, events would start happening in ways I couldn't anticipate, rendering my foreknowledge useless. _That's _why I couldn't tell anybody, outside of the essentials, anything of what I knew. Especially Harry, because it all came down to him. _That's_ why I still had to let Crouch force him to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. If I had my way, Harry would walk into the third task (and not before) knowing everything, because that night was the night I planned to make my move. All of the horcruxes, aside from Harry and Nagini, would be dead. It would be up to Harry to make sure that no one else was pulled into the trap that Voldemort had set for him. It would be up to him to kill Nagini immediately upon arriving, and it would be up to him to willingly take the _Avada Kedavra_ curse that would end the horcrux in his scar. It would be up to him to return. After that, Voldemort would be mortal, and I hoped to be able to hit him with a killing curse from beneath Harry's invisibility cloak (if he even allowed me to borrow it, of course).

It wasn't a foolproof plan, nor was it in actuality a particularly smart one. _So_ many things could go wrong.

But it did have one element in spades. Surprise. No one, not even _Harry,_ would see it coming until it was too late for Voldemort to save himself.

Or, at least, that's what the goal was.

With a sigh, I put the map away, seeing that students were beginning to trickle back to the dormitories, canceled the warding on the bed, and leaped to the ground in my silver fox form before heading down to the common room.

I was just curling up into a comfortable ball of silvery fur on an especially plush armchair when the first students began to scramble in through the portrait hole, chatting amiably amongst themselves. True to form, my trio of young charges burst in just as excitedly as the rest, exclaiming over the advent of the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron sat on me.

He _sat_ on me! Not even Hermione blamed me for biting him on the ass, though Ron didn't seem to appreciate my frustration nearly so much. I slept in the girls' dorms that night, though this was partially to avoid Harry's interrogation on how I'd known about the Triwizard Tournament, and what exactly I knew about it. (It had become a sort of game to him, to get me to slip up and spout some random bit of information that I hadn't any right to know.) It was a game I didn't want to play just yet. If he only knew!

* * *

_A/N: Any and all ideas and feedback are welcome! (Is that even how that sentence happens? Ideas is plural. Feedback is not. So is it 'Any and all ideas and feedback _is _welcome!' or 'Any and all ideas and feedback _are_ welcome!'? Or was that just a really, really sucky sentence? These are the questions that plague our existence, people.)_


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